Blackout
by Courtanie
Summary: When a fight turns violent, Kyle sends Craig out of his home and his life. However, when attacked at random, Craig appears to be the only one who can help him manage the mental breaks he can't seem to escape. Kyle wonders if he just misjudged his ex-boyfriend and should let him back into his life. Or maybe it's the drugs he's being slipped telling him that. N/C, violence; Cryle.
1. Chapter 1

The faucet still needed fixed, shifting between sputtering like a weakly functioning parotid gland and gushing to rebound off dishes hard enough to splash the unfortunate user's shirt. For now, it seemed to be the former, hardly doing the job well enough to clean a single set of cookware. The barely-wet Teflon in his skillet had lasted a good five years of precise, hand washed care, but from the look of the scrambled egg stuck to the bottom, its days were finally numbered. It was a shame, too, getting the set as a gift from his mother when he'd first moved into his own apartment, finally free from the underclassman college days of nothing but hidden hotplates and nonflammable bowls, trying to make due to avoid the overpriced, poorly prepared smorgasbord of mediocrity in the student cafeteria. She'd made sure every inch of his new, fairly modest kitchen was stocked properly, knowing she'd be losing a battle with him regarding home décor being 'essential' as she'd put it. On this, they could at least agree: A home with an underwhelming kitchen made for an underwhelming life.

Sponge doused with Dawn and elbow grease, Kyle bit his inner cheek as he scrubbed, fingers bending awkwardly as they tried to accommodate his force to save his pan. He knew he could leave it to soak, but he _also_ knew if he did that, it wouldn't get cleaned until he was making dinner tomorrow and already stationed at the sink. The last thing he wanted to think about was floating residuals from the night prior waiting to greet him, more than ready to slimily stick to his knuckles and work him into a nice, long bout of disgust and regret for letting it get to that point. Craig called it having to micromanage everything in his life, plan it down to the smallest of details and getting overly frustrated when his agenda wasn't seen through to the letter. Kyle called it being a responsible adult, knowing how to balance a clean, happy home alongside his work schedule so he had free time now and again without the nagging knowledge of the pile of unfolded laundry atop the dryer.

How Kyle managed to live alongside someone so casual as to leave his unrinsed coffee thermos on the table and claim 'he'd deal with it later', he still hadn't been able to figure out.

That query seemed louder than ever as he felt those pumice-shaded eyes staring him down from the small table set in the corner of the kitchen. He could sense the frustration building within his boyfriend, knowing that he himself wasn't on much of a better path. Dinner had been tense and nothing but muttering at each other to pass salt and pepper, staring down at the plastic tabletop and bitterly gnashing their teeth through eggs and toast. Didn't matter, Kyle reasoned, because _he_ was right, and letting Craig think otherwise was completely out of the question.

Craig shifted back into his vinyl-coated chair, the fabric groaning uneasily with his movements as he leaned his back against the wall, watching Kyle moving. He certainly wasn't hard to read, seeing the subtle bouncing of his foot, heel never coming into contact with the floor as he redirected his anger into a jittery tic. A year and a half of dating, five months of living together, and a lifetime of at least acknowledging one another's existence had made Craig _more_ than aware of Kyle's telltale signs; like how he ran his fingers through his hair when nervous or self-conscious. How he would straighten up and his hands would wring and pat one another in an offbeat rhythm when he was excitable. How green eyes would darken and cinnamon lashes would obscure the color change as a deep blush overshadowed a sprinkle of freckles when he found himself craving Craig's complete attention.

And then, there was this irritating display. That damn foot bouncing, the way his shoulders and spine stiffened, head held high despite his dish work laying at stomach-height. There was no limber relief to getting his work accomplished so he could rest for the night; there was no casual, flirtatious banter that he'd become so accustomed to. No, he was instead met with resounding silence aside from a slavering sink and deep, counted breaths seeping through flaring nostrils.

Craig's arms crossed, finger tapping steadily against a forearm as he tried to figure out where to go from here. That was the problem with them, as it always had been: They were both so fucking _stubborn_. The difference was Kyle would eventually boil over; the silent treatment didn't work so well for one so proficient at screaming someone into submission. And at that point, it would be a tossup to see who won. Craig was always the variable. If he could keep _his_ cool, he could possibly simmer down the feisty, temperamental man and get him to finally crack that Craig wasn't the main issue bogging him down, he'd just pushed him over the edge. Or, if _he_ lost his own steady reserve, Kyle would win, because Craig didn't know how to handle himself when he finally lost that cooled demeanor. Words would stumble and he'd be lost in a flurry of emotion that he wasn't suited for dealing with, far less experienced with using acerbity as a weapon.

Chest expanding with a firm breath, tongue gliding over his hard palate, Craig braced himself, keeping his voice nice and chilled. "Do you need help?"

Kyle gave the subtlest of flinches at the sudden noise before falling back into his tensed state. "No. Thank you," he grumbled.

He figured. Kyle didn't usually accept his help even when they _weren't_ caught in the midst of war, but that was something that Craig didn't want used against him in the impending argument. Didn't want Kyle to claim 'he only thought of himself' as he had time and again in the past. So long as he set that foundation of offering, then such a statement held no water.

Grey eyes flickered down to Kyle's coffee cup still resting on the table, half-full and lukewarm as it rested inside a mug circled with musical notes. A gift to high school senior band students that Kyle refused to let go of after so many years, knowing he fucking _earned it_ with suffering through years of enduring torment from his peers from being a flautist at the insistence of his mother. Kyle had informed him the first time he'd seen his mug that the notes were laid out in a chromatic scale, regaling him with the story of how every time they played a C, Bebe would elbow him and smirk. After all, it was the equivalent of a B sharp, Bebe declaring that to be 'Kyle's note because it followed his philosophy'. Kyle had told him that story at least four times, but Craig never minded the repeat. He filled the silence that Craig so often left, and watching him get starry eyed and nostalgic or laughing quietly to himself was never a terrible thing. Kyle in a good mood meant good things for _him_ as well, that calmed state usually resulting in Kyle crawling onto his lap and letting his mouth become preoccupied with other, far more interesting noises.

Craig was pretty sure those pleasant sounds weren't on the playbill for tonight, however.

His focus turned back to Kyle as he finally grabbed a dishtowel to dry off his defeated skillet opponent, letting out that trademarked frustrated sigh. "Kyle," he said thickly, seeing the bristle as he remained honed in on his work. "Why are you so pissed at me?"

Kyle shook his head subtly. He _would_ ask this. He fucking _knew_ why he was angry, but Craig had that far-too-annoying habit of wanting everything spelled out for him. Helped him look like the _reasonable_ one if he could grasp at certain phrases to dismantle Kyle's argument and make him seem like he was just overreacting. "Why do _you_ think?" he asked back, keeping his tone unyielding.

Craig's head fell back against the wall with a small _thunk_. "Because I'm going out of town?"

Kyle rolled his eyes, finally snapping down on the faucet handle and whirling around to lean against the counter, crossing his arms as he stared at his boyfriend. "No. Not because you're fucking leaving as a whole."

Lips twisted, Craig's finger picking up pace against his arm. "Then _what_?"

"Ugh," he groaned, teeth gnashing down against his tongue, foot bouncing a mile a minute. "Craig. What's happening next week?"

"I'm leaving."

He glared, "No. What were _we_ supposed to do next week?" Craig shifted just enough for Kyle to see the uncomfortableness, knowing he had him in the guilty corner. "Gonna fuckin' answer me?" he demanded.

Craig straightened up, shoulders rolling back and forcing out a long sigh. "It's your mother. Not mine," he said plainly.

"Yes but she invited us _both_ to go to dinner," he narrowed his gaze. "She's making the effort to get to know you, why won't you fucking take her up on it?"

He frowned, "Because she doesn't want to _'know me',_ " he quoted. "She's looking for more shit to use against me."

"Oh get _over yourself_ ," he drawled, temper beginning to rapidly spiral through his tense form and radiate throughout his limbs. "Maybe you wouldn't think that way if you ever made an _effort_. But _no_. You met them _once_ and now every time I go to see them, you _miraculously_ have a fucking trip to go on!"

"She fucking hated me, why would I deal with that again?" he asked, starting to catch a lick of fiery rebellion all his own.

"Because my family is _important to me_?!" he stressed. "And she didn't like you because you refused to say more than two things when she asked you shit!"

Craig watched him carefully, seeing the subtle heaving of his chest and the slight tremble of his jaw and shoulders. He was reaching his tipping point, and Craig knew there was no chance of avoiding it this time around. "Look, your mother hates me. I hate your mother. It fucking happens. Why start up a potential war when we can just avoid it?"

Kyle's teeth gritted, brow furrowing. "Craig. I have _enough stress_ from her, I don't need you to kindle the fucking fire!"

"Then why go see her at all?"

"Because she's still my mother!" he shouted, finally bubbling over and slamming an open palm onto the counter behind him. "And I want to see my fucking dad and brother! Just because you don't care about _your_ family doesn't mean _all of us_ are like that!"

"Oh _please_ ," he scoffed. "All you do is bitch about them when you see them."

"Well yeah, because I deal with them asking where the fuck _you_ are when I go see them!" he countered, Craig flinching in the slightest at the venom spewing from his tone. "I spend the entire time dealing with my mother asking why I put up with you and didn't stay with someone like Bebe who fucking _loved_ seeing them!"

"Do you tell her it's because you're a slut for cock?" he asked flatly.

Kyle's fist clenched, rapidly beating against the countertop and trying to not lose his shit and start throwing things onto the floor. He closed his eyes, a growl escaping with a forced, tremoring exhale. "Why do you do this?" he asked, voice sinking into a low vibrato.

"Why do _you_ act like a fucking bitch about all this shit?" he scoffed, getting up off his chair and moving to the front of the table, leaning back against it to look at him straight on. "So I don't like your family, it fucking happens."

"It's _really_ important to me," he repeated, eyes still closed and fist still rapping with nervous energy. "I don't like fucking Clyde or football but I still go out with _you_ when he wants to watch the game."

"And you spend the entire time sucking Marsh and McCormick's dicks, so don't act so victimized," Craig bit, Kyle's eyes snapping back open and taking on a dangerous blaze.

"Fucking _excuse me_?" he hissed.

"You heard me."

Kyle looked up at the ceiling, lips curling into an infuriated, twitching smile, unable to sort the influx of emotion coursing through him at once from such a _juvenile_ statement. Craig watched him cautiously. He'd stepped over a line. Kyle didn't make that face unless he _really_ fucked up. "They're my best friends," he said slowly, fingers changing course from their tapping tic to wrapping firmly around the edge of the counter to hold himself back. "I like seeing them. I'm not _sucking their dicks_ ," he spat. "But then again, how the fuck would _you_ know the difference? You're so fucking antisocial you probably _do_ think anyone I talk to with respect is an affair I'm having since you can't comprehend fucking talking to anyone you're not fucking!"

"So you think I'm fucking Clyde?" he quirked his brow at the stupidity of the notion.

"No, because I think he only speaks to you because he feels like he's _obligated_ ," he drawled. " _You_ don't call him, he calls _you_."

Craig let out an angry sigh, rubbing his temple lightly and biting down hard on his lip as he looked towards the tiled floor. "So I don't like socializing. Neither do _you_."

"But I do anyway! And I _do_ like going out and seeing people!" he bit. He finally broke from the counter and walked up in front of him, staring up the good half a foot separating them and cocking his hip, arms crossing firmly. "All I'm asking for is some fucking compromise."

He raised his eyes from the floor to meet that intense green glare, returning the expression. "That isn't _compromise_. I fucking let McCormick and Marsh come in and out of here, _that's_ my level of compromise."

"Okay, _fuck you_ ," he spat. "Kenny is your fucking friend, too, and Stan's never done a goddamn thing to you!" He paused and blinked before his expression darkened further. "Oh, and you ' _let them'_? I'm sorry, I didn't realize that _you_ dictate who I associate with. Do I need a fucking permission slip next time?"

He rolled his eyes, "Kyle, I didn't fucking mean it like that."

"Then how _did_ you mean it?"

Craig groaned, running his hands down his face. He should've just went to bed. "They annoy the piss out of me, but I don't fucking say anything-"

"Bullshit!" he interjected. "You _always_ tell them how much they piss you off! You don't have a fucking filter, Tucker!"

"Oh yeah, and you're one to judge someone for that, _Broflovski_."

A bony finger prodded against his chest, Craig looking from the appendage to the enraged owner. "I _do_ filter myself, because trust me, there's a lot of shit you do that I let slip on by!"

"Like fucking _what?!"_ he snapped, finally hitting his own edge, the concept of keeping his cool but a forgotten memory left to rot in the dust.

"Uh, how about talking to Stan and Ken like they're pieces of shit?" he stared at him. "How about you letting _me_ handle every fucking problem by myself?!"

"You fucking _yell at me_ if I try to help!" he shot back.

He snarled, "No. I yell if your solution is 'deal with it and stop being a pussy'!"

"Well? Maybe you should try it sometime," he said cruelly.

Kyle inhaled sharply through his teeth, bringing his hands back towards himself and linking his fingers together, biting his knuckle and letting deep, red imprints settle nicely into ashen skin. "Craig," he forced out, entire body tremoring with fury. "All I want… is for you to stop thinking about just you. That's _literally_ all I'm asking for."

He scoffed and rolled his eyes. "I _do_ think about others, I just don't want forced into situations I don't like!"

"You don't like _any_ situation unless it's me making you food or me helping you with work or me sucking your goddamn dick!"

"Oh, yeah, because those _pain_ you, don't they? Thank you for your oh-so- _noble_ sacrifice of whining for cock because I _know_ how much you _hate it_."

His fingers unlinked, hands jerking a bit in front of him and another seething smile plastering on his slim face. "You are _missing my point_."

"No, I fucking _get your point_ , Broflovski," he sneered. "You're a sensitive little bitch who wants to run off and cry because I don't want to talk to your mom or be as close of buttbuddies as you are to McCormick and Marsh. Because if things aren't fucking _perfect_ for you then it's a disaster."

Kyle forced himself to take a small step back, hands raising and scratching roughly through plush, red curls. A classic move, redirect the fury, let the scalp nerves take the brunt of his frustration so he didn't lose himself entirely. "I just want things to be easier, why can't you just fucking accommodate the _few things_ I ask you to do?!" he pleaded. "Jesus, I don't fucking _nag_ you to do chores. I don't scream at you for putting your nasty-ass feet on the coffee table or something else fucking ridiculous! I _just_ want some fucking peace in my life and you're so fucking adamant that I don't deserve even that!"

Craig scoffed, "Not my fault you invite trouble into your fucking life! It doesn't count as someone else's fault when all your problems stem from your whiny bullshit!"

Kyle paused, lip trembling and eye twitching. "You're right," he started, voice dripping with a toxicity that Craig wondered if he would suffocate from. "Because I invited _your_ problematic ass into my life, didn't I?! Didn't _fucking_ listen to anyone when they told me you're nothing but a piece of fucking shit who didn't deserve my time!" he screamed, emotion spiraling out of control and Craig building right along with him at the insinuation, baring his teeth a bit as they grated against one another. Kyle pressed on, not catching the shift in Craig's demeanor as he wandered through the haze of his own rushing psyche. "Didn't listen to Stan. Or Ken. _Or_ my mother. Didn't fucking listen when they _all_ told me you're an antisocial fucktard who'd do _nothing_ but hold me back from living my fucking life!"

"Kyle. Shut up," he warned.

"Why? So you can fucking just go and walk away from the problem?" he huffed out a sarcastic laugh. "Because I mean that's the _only_ way to solve an issue in your opinion, right? Just turn your sorry ass away and leave _me_ to pick up the pieces like a weak-willed little bitch!"

"I'm _serious_ ," he seethed, vision beginning to blear with asperity, fists clenching and unable to cease their shaking.

He growled, "So am _I_. Why don't you just take your bullshit and shove it up your ass with the fucking stick stuck up there?! I don't know _why_ I thought talking to you would accomplish fucking anything! All you care about is what _you_ want," he poked him again jarringly against the chest. "That's all that _ever_ matters. Well, guess what, Buddy, few people in the world give a flying _shit_ about you and you're fucking up with one of the few who _do_ , so drop the holier-than-thou-art bullshit!"

Another firm poke snapped something in Craig, rage flying off the handle faster than he could keep up with and guiding him through a reactionary flinch forward. Kyle blinked, staring up into glossed, empty gray eyes and a wrathful stare, poking hand curling back against his chest and taking a small step back. He'd never seen such an expression on Craig, lost in its trance and unable to find _humanity_ in the look. Movement caught his peripheral, glancing and barely managing to gasp at a fist heading towards his face, arm trying to raise but too slow before knuckles slammed into his cheekbone. A loud yelp escaped him, too shocked to catch himself as he flew backwards, skull crashing against the floor and sending an instantaneous ripple of pain through the bone. He groaned, eyes scrunched and unable to open as the world seemed to come to a halt around him. He curled into himself, uninjured cheek resting against the cooled floor beneath him as he tried to find somewhat of a comprehension of what'd just happened.

Craig stared at him, frozen with his fist throbbing as he watched Kyle shaking and trying to find a stance again. The world slowly began to creep back into view around him, pupils shrinking at his boyfriend so shocked and vulnerable looking on the floor. "Shit… SHIT!" he spat. "Kyle? Kyle, fuck, are you all right?" he asked, bending down and grabbing his arm.

Kyle's eyes shot open, his own fist curling and launching straight up against Craig's mouth. He dropped him back to the floor, clutching over the impact point and yelling through his fingers, tasting blood oozing from his bottom lip. Kyle scrambled onto his knees, backing against the counter and staring at him in a chaotic expression of pain, fright, and animosity. "Leave," he spat.

Craig looked at him with a wince, "What?" he asked, muffled by his palms.

"I want you to _leave_. I want you _out_ of my fucking apartment!" he screamed, blindly reaching up and snagging the edge of the counter, struggling to stand himself back up against the horrid pounding of his temples.

"Look, I'm sorry!" he insisted, dropping his hands and unable to control his glaring at him. "You pissed me off!"

"And you piss me off all the time and I _never_ hit you, so I want you _gone!_ " he snapped. "You can get your shit next week when I'm at my parents', but I want you _out_!"

"You can't fucking kick me out!" he snapped, taking a step forward.

Kyle's eyes widened and his breath hitched, reaching across the sink and grabbing his freshly scrubbed skillet. "Come near me and I'll bash your _fucking_ head in," he warned. "Get a bag. Get clothes. And get. _Out_."

"Kyle-"

"You have two minutes or I'm calling the cops, Tucker!" he demanded.

Craig stopped, staring at the panic circulating Kyle's eyes, the skillet quivering in his hold. His expression dropped again, Kyle flinching at the same blank fury taking hold over his irises yet again. "Fine," he said sharply, holding up his hands. "Be the little bitch you always are. This is why no one but me can stand _you_ , Broflovski."

"Get out," he repeated, teeth clattering at the nothingness staring him down.

Craig hesitated before snarling and pivoting on his heel. Kyle watched after him with a gulp as he stormed through the apartment and ripped open the front door, slamming it behind him and shaking the light fixture above Kyle's head. The room fell into an eerie silence, filled with nothing but Kyle's pained, panicked air seeping over the echo of screams fading off and away.

Kyle took a shaking breath, keeping the pan held tightly in his grasp as he made way to the door himself, quickly bolting it shut and backing away from it, staring at the wooden surface and running a hand through his hair. The skillet dropped from his quaking fingers onto the carpet with a dull thud, Kyle hardly taking notice as he continued his way backwards, finding the couch and slowly lowering himself onto it, eyes not leaving the door. He couldn't wrap his brain around what'd just occurred, couldn't seem to _believe_ the throbbing of his entire head, the pain jolting through his cheek.

He gulped again, reaching into his pocket and grabbing his phone, letting instinct lead him through as he tried to figure out where the fuck to go from here. Blankly, he looked down as he opened his messages.

 **To: Group chat; Stan M, Kenny M  
** _'Can you guys come over? Possibly stay over just for tonight?'_

He sent it off with a small sniff, curling his legs up to the side on the couch beside him and staring at the floor. He certainly hadn't thought _this_ was where the night would lead, was more than prepared for the yelling but not to _that_ extent. And he _never_ thought Craig would have the stones to actually _hit him._ Kyle wasn't one for cowering at the first sign of a raised fist, but it was just _different_ coming from someone he was _dating_.

Green narrowed dangerously. No. No more was. _Had been_. He wasn't dealing with that, wasn't about to provoke whatever temper he'd never seen until now and let Craig think it was fine and dandy. Too much pride on the line, too much self-respect to tie himself down to someone so willing to hit him just because Kyle trounced on his feelings or whatever. His phone buzzed briefly.

 **Stan M  
** _'sure bro. or at least i can. everything aight?'_

Kyle shook his head at Stan's word choice, annoyed by the lack of eloquence but gladdened to let some of that normalcy creep back in so soon.

 **Kyle B  
** _'Not really. Craig and I really got into it and I kind of don't want to be alone right now.'_

He watched the shifting bubble pop back up right away as one of them typed, Kyle knowing them well enough to know they were _already_ on edge about him dating Craig of all people. Hearing about their fights definitely didn't help shape their opinions in a positive light any, regardless of how much Kyle had previously tried to convince them he was a good guy. Silly him; apparently this is what he deserved for just once giving into the temptation of something not quite so vanilla as previous flings.

 **Stan M  
** _'wait how big a fight we talking?'_

Kyle hesitated, letting his thumbs hover above the touchscreen. How much was he willing to tell them? Given, it probably wouldn't matter. If the way his face was pulsing was any indication, he was probably going to have a bruise before long, didn't exactly take much to coax one out of his damn skin. He chewed lightly on his lip, seeing that row of bubbles pop back up again.

 **Kenny M  
** _'what'd that dickhead do now? Ky u ok?'_

He couldn't help but smile sadly. They cared. At least he had _them_. If _they_ punched him, he knew he damn well deserved it, it was a staple throughout a lifetime of friendship. But those rules changed once the prospect of building a life together was put on the table. Once the boundary between friends and something more was crossed, _everything_ had to change, regardless of how much one may not want it to. Kyle sighed. They'd figure it out one way or the other, trying to tiptoe around it wouldn't result in anything but them yelling at him to his face about hiding this information. And apparently he really needed them, considering getting them over to his place was the first thing he thought of doing.

 **Kyle B  
** _'No, Craig hit me. I told him to leave and if he comes back I don't want to deal with him by myself.'_

Pride be damned for now. He needed them to rant to, to figure out if he'd overreacted and just not realized it. He needed them to talk him down, as they'd grown so accustomed to doing for one another. Given, they weren't exactly unbiased in this scenario, but their perspectives helped him work through a _lot_ of his issues over the years. They could be his make or break point to putting his absolute final foot down. Another vibration caught his attention, glancing down and sighing through his nose.

 **Stan M  
** _'holy fuck i'll kill him  
where is he  
i need to kill him'_

 **Kyle B  
** _'Look, don't bother with that I don't want this to get worse can you please just come over here?'_

 **Stan M**  
 _'Yea i'm omw be there in 10. lock the door'_

Kyle couldn't help a small huff of a laugh. That was Stan, his overprotective 'big brother' 'till the end. He knew he was in for some doting from the both of them, and they'd get on his nerves in a matter of minutes, but he'd appreciate it nonetheless.

 **Kenny M  
** _'holy shit. ok i'm on my shift rn i'm off in bout an hour i'll head straight there. u need anything? what'd he hit? r u dizzy or anything?'_

 **Kyle B  
** _'He punched my face and I fell onto the floor. Not dizzy, my head just hurts. And thanks, but I don't think I need anything honestly.'_

He leaned back, watching the dots pick up their dance again and letting out a sad sigh. Maybe that was a lie. He needed a pillow to scream into. He needed alcohol to drink away the misery beginning to slowly and firmly settle over him like mist. He needed _something_ to sort out how he was starting to feel, both anger and sorrow duking it out for control. Kyle grimaced. He knew he should just be furious for being treated like that, not overwhelmingly upset that it'd all ended so abruptly. Maybe Craig had the right idea acting like a fucking robot half the time, emotions were _stupid_.

 **Kenny M  
** _'ice wherever he hit, take some advil or somethin' for ur head. i'll get a pizza n beer or somethin when i leave. like stan said, keep the door locked we'll both stay the nite.'_

Kyle snorted a bit. Sometimes he forgot he had _two_ overprotective big brothers. Stan was there to threaten anyone down and Kenny was always on standby with a first aid kit and a redneck temper to boot. But that was appreciated, knowing that they wouldn't call him a fucking pussy for being a little on edge and just needing company. There would be no comments on his size lending to not being able to defend himself at such a sudden attack or telling him to drop his balls on the matter. No. Those kinds of comments came from Craig instead.

 **Kyle B** _ **  
**_ _'Thanks, Ken. Will do.'_

He closed out of his app and tossed the phone down beside him, glancing back at the door and heaving a deep, miserable sigh. Well. Everyone said they'd never make it past a month. They'd definitely beaten that estimation by a good, long while. But now Kyle was just left to wonder whether or not he should have just taken everyone's advice and cut it off sooner, if Craig was really worth all the arguments and building up to this point.

His hands clasped around his arms, slowly rubbing his skin as his sight drifted onto the floor. Okay, that was ridiculous. Of _course_ it was worth it right up until that breaking point, he wasn't with him just because he didn't want to be lonely or something. Kyle groaned, leaning his aching head back and closing his eyes. Stan and Ken would help him figure this out. Maybe Craig would come swooping in with apologies out the ass and talk it out with him like an _adult_ once they were both in a better frame of mind. And _maybe_ Kyle would listen, should he find himself uncharacteristically forgiving of being treated like dirt.

But for now, he just didn't know. Apparently fate was just destined to swerve without his knowledge and he needed to merely buckle up and fight his way through it. All he wanted for now was his friends, a cup of coffee, and to forget that Craig fucking Tucker was ever involved in his goddamn life. **  
**


	2. Chapter 2

When he was fourteen entering high school and his mother had begun coming down on him intensively right out the gate about what he planned to do with his future, Kyle had only one thing for _certain_ in mind: "Not a goddamn lawyer because I want to leave work at work, who the fuck wants to work every night and weekend after a six to five shift?"

Oh, how naïve little brace-faced Kyle had been.

Or at least that was the case _now_ , cursing to himself as he shifted between his laptop and a pile of paperwork taller than his screen. He leaned back in his rickety desk chair, ignoring the irritated groaning from the worn out post. A knuckle snuck in past his teeth, gently biting down on the skin as his gaze flickered between the paper in his hand and the screen glowing radiantly in the low lighting of his living room. He hummed, noting the forty-two dollars and thirty-nine cent discrepancy between the sum lines. He should've known this would happen. Pretty surprise promotions don't come without a price, and his disbursement came in the form of inheriting the previous financial official's half-assed, half-drunken ledger fuck ups that he got the special task of rectifying. The six percent salary increase was _barely_ worth it.

Holding his physical copy next to his screen, he glanced back and forth between separate lines, looking for his predecessor's missteps. Lucky him this was only the eighth month of _years_ ' worth of miscalculations he got to sift through, already drudging his way towards a killer migraine after two weeks of nonstop staring at his damn figures.

" _Sheet!"_ came a frustrated snap followed by the sound of something slamming onto the carpeted floor.

Kyle whipped his head around towards the noise source, blinking at his roommate cursing up a storm under his breath and fumbling to get his dropped item from the floor. "Uh, you okay?" He watched him raise back over the blocking rear of the couch and snap his head towards him, murky hazel eyes that could cut a man in half meeting his gaze.

"Fine," he scoffed. "Dropped zis _stupeed_ piece of sheet," he raised his laptop, no doubt a relic of the early 2000's and shook it a bit, Kyle cringing at the rattling from the heavy monstrosity.

"Dude, I _told you_ , we can fucking clear a space and get you a desk," he scoffed, resting his arm on the back of his chair and cocking his brow. "You don't have to keep using the damn couch."

His face twisted in derision at such a notion. "Why waste ze money? Ze couch 'as been just fine."

Kyle shook his head lightly and raised his hand lazily in defeat, swiveling back around in his chair. Why Christophe would be concerned regarding money was beyond him. He'd swooped into Kyle's apartment a mere three days after he'd posted an ad for a roommate, and needless to say, had been the _oddest_ of Kyle's interviews. Very gruff and very French, had a cold stare on him but a soothing canticle to his accented tone. Also had a stocky build that made Kyle make a mental note to _never_ get on his bad side. He'd came in with mussed, tangled brown hair and smudges of dirt on his face, Kyle having to hold in a displeasured noise when he'd plopped his sloppy ass down onto his couch. Despite his appearance however, he had a strange charm to him, very to-the-point in a way that still kept the conversation feeling natural, he and Kyle breezing through the socially-dictated pleasantries with ease.

Kyle hadn't learned _too_ much about his personal life, only that he couldn't stand his current roommate and needed to get away from " _zat pompous ass'ole"_.What did he do for work? Kyle didn't know, nor was he sure that he even _wanted_ to know. Whatever it was, when Kyle told him how much he'd need to pay to get onto the lease as a 'you're in consideration; first come, first serve' motion, Christophe had the cash handed to him before Kyle had even pulled down his shirt from getting off the couch. It was skeptical to say the least, but after verifying the money's authenticity and running a quick background check, he was helping Christophe unload a meager collection of things from a rusted, black Civic into his new room.

But, Kyle found after he'd adjusted to Christophe's offbeat and somewhat closeted personality, he couldn't have asked for much better in regards to someone to live with. He was quiet and, contrary to his disheveled presentation, he was tidy, at least in their shared space. A glance through his cracked-open door had shown Kyle his bedroom floor was not exactly pristine, but so long as _he_ didn't have to take care of it, he couldn't care less. Whatever his job was took him on trips more often than not, Kyle finding himself spending the majority of the last six months alone but with a check in the mail, always right on time for their shared rent and utilities. The occasional times they _were_ together were pleasant enough, sticking to their own thing but comfortable enough acknowledging one another now and then and sating Kyle's need for that occasional extra body in the vicinity.

And, as Kyle had discovered late one night when they were up and talking, Christophe was vigilant and defensive as fuck, always reared back and unnaturally prepared for the unknown. An angry pounding on their door at three in the morning two months into their arrangement had him up and ready to strike. He'd shoved a protesting Kyle down behind their couch and went on the offensive, meeting whoever was at the barrier with a stiffened spine and a cruel kick to his tone that had even Kyle scared shitless. Kyle had only managed a glance at whoever it was, meeting the dark, angry stare of a stranger before Christophe began snapping about knowing eight ways to break a man's leg and had the assailant retreating. Kyle had just shakily laughed after the fact, saying he wasn't expecting him to be such a guard dog. Christophe had scoffed, voice dripping back down into his firm but nonchalant manner as he informed him that he _hated_ dogs before merely going back to the couch to continue sipping away at his beer.

Kyle certainly wasn't going to complain about such a manner, so long as it wasn't used against _him_. But, he seemed to be on the man's good side, Christophe going so far as to bring him back special ingredients unique to wherever he happened to be sent off to or even just coming home and telling him stories he believed Kyle might find humorous. It was a friendship Kyle was more than grateful to gain, needing the help not only financially, but just coping with the occasional need for human contact. He'd gone two months after Craig was moved out just fine on his own, but the moment he realized he was sitting on the couch eating a Lean Cuisine and watching a cooking show, shouting at the screen about the misuse of paprika all alone, he knew he couldn't keep that up.

"You are goeeng to go blind," a dry voice broke the silence yet again.

Kyle didn't take his eyes from his work, "Whaddya mean?"

Christophe smacked his lips, looking over at him yet again, "Zey are workeeng you to death."

He snorted lightly, shaking his head. "Dude, it needs fixed. Besides, my boss promised me a _super_ nice bonus if I get this done before the year ends."

"Eet ees already September," he said blandly.

" _Very_ good, Tophe. Can you name all the seasons, too?" he joked, feeling the slight glare from the other and laughing to himself. "Technically our year-end is in March, I have _plenty_ of time. Besides, I don't mind it. Keeps me busy."

"Uh huh," he rolled his eyes. Only half a year of knowing him and he knew well enough Kyle was going to drown himself in this assignment. He'd realized it watching him scrubbing down the apartment one day Kyle had been particularly restless, staring at him in astonishment as he began climbing furniture to scrub down the already-pristine walls with a sponge and his home-concocted cleaner. He'd figured out then and there he was living with a bit of a manic personality when it came to projects Kyle undertook, that his entire being would hone in on his goal and nothing would get in his way. He couldn't say anything was particularly _wrong_ with that, but having to catch Kyle from falling off the counter once sore legs finally gave out on him after hours of cleaning hadn't exactly _reassured_ him of the trait, either.

A digital ringtone began blaring through the room, both of them glancing at a notification popping onto Kyle's computer screen. Kyle cocked his brow at Kenny's name and his fucking sparkly anime avatar gracing his presence. "Why is he Skyping me?" he muttered before glancing back at his roommate. "You cool if I'm on video here?" He knew Christophe had a tendency to want to be fairly private.

He shrugged, "Just do not streep while I am 'ere."

His face fell and he shook his head. "Look, it's Kenny. He _might_ be fucking naked," he sighed. "So, you know… prepare for that."

"Ugh."

Kyle chuckled, finally answering the call and looking up at the lag before their cameras caught up with them, raising his brow at Kenny popping into his view. _"Heeyyyy, Ky,_ " Kenny greeted with a cheeky grin.

"Hi," he responded skeptically, seeing Kenny's arms moving a bit with his hands out of view under his desk. "Ken, if you're jerking off, I'm not fucking helping you."

He broke into an obnoxiously loud laughter, that one he only shared with Stan and Kyle and never failed to amuse them both with its candor. _"One: That's fucking rude, I'd help_ you. _Two: Nah,"_ he pulled his beaten-to-hell Gameboy from his lap and shook it a bit. _"Just needed my hands free, couldn't be bothered to text."_

"Because _god forbid_ you put down a game for literally thirty seconds," he smirked, leaning back and snagging a worn black pen, smacking it against his knee. "Why'd you need me then?"

" _No no, you're wrong._ You _need_ me _,_ " he corrected.

"You are _vastly_ overestimating the importance you hold in my life."

" _WOW,_ " he pouted, glancing up from his screen to wibble his bottom lip pathetically before it twitched into an amused grin. " _So I hear tell you got yerself a big ole lame project yer dealin' with."_

He nodded slowly, "Needs done, Man. Someone's gotta do it."

" _M'kay well yer takin' a break tonight,"_ he informed him, thumbs fiddling with his device. _"Me n' Stan voted."_

Kyle frowned, "Funny how I'm never invited to these ballots."

An innocent shrug rolled through his shoulders. _"You're biased."_

He sighed, rubbing his temple, "Ken, honestly, I'm fine. I don't need a break-"

" _Yes ya dooooo,"_ he sang, blue eyes flickering up and a knowing grin crawling up his face. _"You're tappin' yer pen. You're stressed."_

Kyle glanced down at the pen bouncing against his leg and brought it to a hard stop, glancing back at Kenny and scoffing, "I don't need a break," he repeated. "I'm stressed, yes, but not to the point where I'm ripping out hair."

" _Dude, c'mon_ ," he pleaded. _"Just come out to the bar with me n' Stanny tonight. Just chill out and then tomorrow you can buckle down again. Ya need t' get out. One night ain't the end of the world."_

"'e ees right, you know," Christophe interjected, typing away on his computer and not looking as Kyle turned to glance at him, frowning for encouraging Kenny's insistent tendencies.

Kenny looked behind Kyle, seeing a messy blob of muted tones and grinning. _"Yoooo, Chrissie, you should come out, too,_ " he cooed.

Kyle smirked, seeing his out. Christophe tolerated Kenny and Stan, but not _nearly_ enough to beat his homebody persona. "Yeah, Tophe. You get out even less than I do, _you_ should go."

He shrugged, "Fine by me."

Kyle froze, "Wait what?"

" _Wooo!"_ Kenny cheered from across the screen. _"Got us a party!"_

Christophe smacked his lips, eyes half lidded as he scrolled through his page scavenging for information. "Eef I refused, you would 'ave used zat as an excuse to not go. So I weell, I would not mind a beer anyway."

"We have beer _here_ ," he stressed.

"Stop be-eeng a stubborn beetch, Broflovski," he scoffed.

He twisted his mouth in frustration, "Well, stop encouraging Kenny being so goddamn insistent, DeLorne."

" _Kyleeeee stop ignoring meeee,_ " Kenny whined, getting his attention back on his screen.

Kyle glanced at him, raising his brow at Kenny's phone in his hands. "The fuck happened to needing to play your game?"

" _Uh, it's called hitting a good save point, Kyle,"_ he drawled. _"And I'm making it so you have no_ _ **choice**_ _but to go with us tonight."_

He crossed his arms, watching him suspiciously. "What, gonna tell my mommy on me?"

Kenny paused, letting out a loud snort. " _Oh man, I wish I would've thoughta that first. But this'll work."_

"What'll-" he stopped at a vibration from beside his keyboard. He glanced at the glowing screen of his phone, a notification from Facebook claiming ' _Kenny McCormick has tagged you in a post'_. He frowned, snatching his phone and feeling Kenny giddily watching his unamused face as he waited for his app to load. His brow slowly hiked on his face, a status reading _'goin to the bar with mah boo tonight ;3'_ appearing in front of him.

Kenny snorted, knowing from that bewildered expression he'd landed on his post. _"Now you can't back out. It's Facebook official. That means it's like… law now."_

Kyle glanced at him and blinked. "Okay, ignoring the absolute _stupidity_ of that logic, why the fuck did you refer to me as your fucking ' _boo_ '?"

" _God, Ky, it's just a shortened term. It means you're my boo-ro. You're my number one boo-ro and Stan's right there with ya. I don't know how that can possibly be interpreted_ _ **any**_ _other way."_

He leaned his head back and heaved a deep sigh, wondering why oh why he kept this friendship going. A common query with Kenny's shenanigans unfortunately. And equally unfortunate, there was only one way to stop both him and Stan before it became a full-out mission to get Kyle out of his home. Theirs was an operative that more often than not ended up with Kyle getting a call from mutual friends demanding to know why he 'was being so mean to Kenny and Stan' from fake stories of Kyle 'throwing their feelings under the bus'. If he ever had to give the two of them credit for anything, it was their relentless persistence for his attention.

"Fine," he muttered. "You're paying for at _least_ my first drink, though."

" _I'll hold the glass for you and everything,"_ he promised, clapping excitedly. _"Aight, I'll get Stan, we'll come get the two of ya in like twenty. See ya then!"_ He hung up and Kyle stared at the return of his icon, letting out another sigh.

He turned to see Christophe staring at him with the slightest hint of amusement. "Remember when you called Kenny 'a bumbling retard'?"

Christophe nodded, "And I stand by eet. But zey are right, you need out for a couple 'ours or so, Kyle. You are fighteeng a 'eadache, no?"

Kyle pouted, arms crossing as he shifted a bit in his seat, "A _tiny_ one. Not a big deal."

He rolled his eyes, getting to his feet and raising his arms above his head with a bit of a yawn, wincing at a pop in his spine. "Leesten, eet ees important to step away," he advised. "Eef I deed not with my job, I would not be so good at eet; eet would become overwhelmeeng."

Kyle eyed him skeptically, "Yeah, but I have a feeling whatever the fuck _you_ do is a little more uh… _intensive_ than financial work," he waved aimlessly towards his computer.

He gave him a light smirk, an expression that seemed almost forced for Kyle's benefit as he walked around the couch, leaning against the back to stare at him. "Perhaps," he agreed. "But, ze concept, eet ees still ze same. Ze brain can only take so much at once. Rest ees vital."

He snorted softly, sliding out of his chair and cracking his neck. "Bars aren't exactly a place where I can rest, Tophe. Little too rowdy."

"You dreenk, you relax, you… 'ow do you say… _meengle_."

"Also not one for mingling," he shrugged. "People aren't my favorite thing unless I know them already."

Christophe shrugged back, "I am ze same. But 'ow weell you know anyone eef you do not make ze attempt?"

"God you sound like my mother," he muttered. He waved him off dismissively, closing his laptop screen and pivoting to head towards his room. "I already agreed to go. Sort of. I was kind of coerced since _you_ weren't supposed to be willing to go," he glared.

He gave a smug grin, snagging his cigarettes out of his cargo pants pocket and tossing it lazily between his palms. "I want a beer, one zat ees not at 'ome. Ees zat so wrong?"

"It is when you're supposed to be my excuse."

"And _'ow_ would zat 'ave worked?" he challenged.

Kyle paused. "I would've figured something out. If it would've kept me home, I would've told Ken we're fucking dating and I wanted laid. I _really_ don't want to deal with people."

Christophe snorted with husky laughter, a rarity that was somewhat fascinating to Kyle. He rarely got a positive reaction outside of a slight, mischievous grin, considering anytime he procured a laugh to be somewhat of a victory in his favor. "McCormick seems ze type to ask for proof," he teased.

"According to him, Facebook makes it law, so I would've just made you a fake account and set the status," he replied coolly. "Ken's not always the brightest bulb in the drawer." Christophe laughed harder, Kyle smirking at the crinkling of his eyes and his cigarettes stopping in his palm.

"Trust me, I am ze last person you want someone to zink you are eenvolved weeth."

Kyle cocked his brow, "Oh? Why? Got yourself a crazy jealous ex?"

He shook his head, "Non. No'zing so seemple. Let us just say… zere are people who are not fond of me."

He stared at him a bit, blinking. "Uh. I'm not gonna… come home and walk in to a bomb going off or something one day… am I?"

"Not eef you are careful weeth whom you deesclose my location to," he replied coolly, the tone far outside of one Kyle would expect with such a statement. He stood up off the back of the couch, running fingers through his hair and shrugging. "I am goeeng to smoke seence Marsh ees a leetle pussy."

Kyle frowned, "He has asthma, Dicknuts."

"What ees ze deeference?" he smirked, turning on his heel and heading out their door. Kyle watched after him, shaking his head and sighing loudly. He glanced over to his paperwork, still waiting for him to crack back into and his shoulders slumped. Just one night. One night of sating the guys' need for him to 'come out of his hidey hole' or whatever they called it. He shut his eyes, nodding to himself. Just one. And he could come back, buckle down, and let himself drown in the resounding silence of his figures. He spun on his heel, heading to his room to change out of his work clothes. Sounded like a plan to him.

* * *

He'd nearly forgotten a simple worldly fact after being in relationship after relationship: Being single in a bar was _awful_.

Kyle hadn't dealt with anyone but Stan and Kenny trying to get his attention in so damn long he almost didn't know how to cope with an influx of strangers trying to make conversation with him. Girls trying to get him to buy them drinks until Kenny, who'd designated himself Kyle's unwanted wingman, would sweep in and inform them that unless they were sporting a dick, they were wasting their time. But he'd be _more_ than happy to pick them up from Kyle's lack of interest. Stan and Christophe lingered with him, neither of them interested in 'perusing the store' as Ken had put it, the three of them standing against a back wall and watching the world go on around them.

Kyle listlessly flicked his beer label with his thumb, eyes lazily gliding around the crowded room and sighing. He just wanted to go home. Beer number five was settling on him fairly hard, unable to grab ahold of every word spoken between Stan and Christophe on either side of him as they argued tipsily. Their banter reigned on until he finally leaned his head back with a sigh, "Will you two shut the fuck up?"

"Well tell Christophe to fuck off then," Stan whined. Kyle looked up at him and shook his head, seeing that all-too-familiar glaze in Stan's eyes and knowing that tone anywhere. He'd been dealing with it for far too long, time and again filled with the hope that he'd never have to be in its presence once more. Unfortunately, Stan had far more of an addictive personality than he cared to admit.

"Last drink, Stan," he said firmly. "Wendy will fucking kill you if you get loaded again."

He pouted, "I'm learning _control_."

"And I'm _taking_ control so you don't lose yours," he bit. "You promised only two, Dude."

Stan sighed irritably, scratching up through thick, black hair. "Dude, Ky. Broski. I'm fine."

"You just called me Broski. You're not fine," he rolled his eyes.

He gave a bit of a smirk, "I just shortened your last name, jeez. I'm not the one who made you all Polish or whatever."

Christophe leaned around Kyle and cocked his brow. "You are Poleesh?"

"Waayyyyy back in my family, yes," he scoffed before turning back to Stan. "Either way, don't call me Broski. And stop-" he paused as Stan leaned his elbow down on his shoulder, flicking his cheek.

"Ky, stop being everyone's mother," he drawled. "Dude, just _relax_. I'm fine. Just happy. Ken's out there trying to _get_ happy," he gestured out onto the floor.

Kyle followed his point and blinked at the sight of Kenny backing up nervously. "Uh… he's not very happy right now. I think he hit on someone's girlfriend." Stan and Christophe looked over to see Kenny holding his hands up and rambling to someone nearly twice his width, arms flailing a bit. "Guys? You wanna go save his ass?" he asked.

Christophe smirked at him, "What? You are not weelleeng to?"

"Look, I would, but that guy would break me in half," he drawled. "They _always_ go for the shortest first. Every _goddamn_ time," he muttered bitterly. He looked up and patted Christophe's shoulder. "Next in line for that is you, Buddy. So good luck."

"Wow. Zank you," he rolled his eyes, handing his beer to Kyle and moving off the wall towards the fumbling fool.

Kyle snorted, taking Stan's drink as well as he sighed tiredly. "Ya know… if we let the guy punch him, he'll learn his lesson."

"No he won't, he never does," Kyle reminded him, shaking his head a bit. Stan lost every goddamn ounce of tactful compassion when he had enough alcohol loaded into him, it was almost a marvel knowing how fucking sensitive his best friend could be when sober. "You and I will have to help him home and listen to him crying that he was hurt and we have to coddle him. Then he'll pull the same shit next time."

Stan shuddered, "Ugh. Right. Save him, got it," he nodded, turning away and heading to follow Christophe towards the other side of the room.

Kyle smirked, setting their beers down and taking a long sip of his own. He watched amusedly as Stan and Christophe got between Kenny and his new opponent, trying to talk down the situation. He shook his head. Never a dull moment with them at the very least. He battled with the notion of going over there himself before shaking himself out of it. Nah, they had it under control, and someone had to watch the damn drinks.

"Excuse me?" a high voice said from beside him, looking to find a petite blonde smiling at him, long, clumpy mascara-coated lashes fluttering as she tucked her hair flirtatiously behind her ear. "Hi. How are you?"

"Fine. Happy," he said dryly. "Other synonyms for happy as well. You know, joyful, ecstatic. Gay. I'm feeling very _very_ gay this evening."

"Ah," she nodded a bit, giving an embarrassed grin and a shrug. "Well, worth a shot. Guess he was right."

Kyle raised his brow, "Uh. Who was right?"

She pointed out into the crowd towards a tall man with dark espresso hair lingering in the background and staring at them. She waved him over before turning back to him with another shrug. "Heard me talk about you and wanted me to see if you were. You know… whoever was right got to take you home."

Kyle blinked down at her a bit, "How very… presumptuous."

"We're not here to court," she said dryly. "No one comes to a bar for just conversation, honey."

"Well maybe not _you_ , but-"

"Hi," a husky voice broke between them, Kyle looking up at the man and gulping a bit, lost all at once in layers of color swirled into a hazelnut hue. Slight stubble and a chiseled jawline that looked like it could cut him in half had him rendered still, heart pounding nervously and the bar noise momentarily dropping out from around him.

The girl looked between them for a moment and laughed, elbowing Kyle on her way away from them. "Looks like you can't make much conversation after all, huh?" she teased, making her way back onto the floor.

Kyle flickered his eyes towards her retreating and frowned before being drawn back to the tall form before him. "Uh… hi," he replied quietly, watching him move to lean beside him.

"Sorry for sending her over first," he shrugged sheepishly. "Figured chances were higher for her."

He smirked a bit, "Well that's me. Always fuckin' with the status quo or whatever."

"You rebel," he teased, Kyle huffing out a small, shy laugh and going back to peeling his label with fidgeting fingers. "I'm Neil."

"Kyle," he cleared his throat a bit, taking another sip of his beer. This wasn't exactly his game, all at once his stomach twisting with nerves he forgot he had. He wasn't exactly expecting to make conversation without the guys stationed nearby to get him out of it. He glanced towards the three of them across the way still talking down the angered boyfriend and scratched behind his ear. Looked like he was on his own for this one. He took another subtle look at the well-built man beside him. Then again, them not around suddenly didn't seem so terrible.

Neil shifted a bit, taking his own swig of his whisky and looking down at him, "You don't seem much the type to hang around bars like this, Kyle."

He shuddered a bit, astounded in a way at the feeling rolling down his spine at the way he said his name. Apparently a lack of much outside contact was getting to him more than he had assumed. Kyle straightened back up, realizing he needed to goddamn say something and gave him a forced casual shrug. "My friends dragged me out. I was at home working and they got all pissy about it."

"Well, remind me to thank them," he said smoothly, Kyle's face heating up a bit and looking back onto the floor. "What do you do that you have to work from home?"

"Uh, I'm the financial manager of a small company. I have to fix some monetary discrepancies from my predecessor" he winced a bit. It sounded so much nerdier and unintentionally _pretentious_ to say it aloud to a stranger, a very _attractive_ stranger no less. It felt nothing like the boastful pride he'd experienced adding it to his damn resume. He cleared his throat again, willing to get the fuck away from that. "What uh… what do you do?" he dared a glance up, seeing his stare hadn't wavered from his bashful form.

He shrugged, taking another drink. "Pediatrician."

Kyle blinked, "You're a _doctor_?" Neil nodded and Kyle looked back at his bottle, biting his lip a bit. A part of him wanted to just walk away _now_ before he found himself caught in the midst of a stereotype his mother would be so goddamn proud of him for falling into. He battled with that notion for a moment, licking over his teeth. No, fuck it. He didn't get these kinds of chances. All too often he found himself paired up with people not willing to go above a retail management position. He wanted this. He fucking _needed_ this for his own sake. "I bet that's rough," he finally worked out, looking back at him with a smile.

"Eh, it is," he agreed. "But I love it, so you learn to deal."

Kyle nodded a bit, shifting on the balls of his feet. "Kind of surprised you're here if that's the case. Usually your type isn't on the market."

"My type?" he smirked.

"You know… doctor… cares about kids… _good looking_ ," he mumbled over his beer bottle, realizing with an awkward start how legitimately horrible he was at this. He looked up to see Neil watching him with a smile and blushed, finishing off his beer and pouting. Quickly, he turned and put his bottle down, snagging Stan's half-emptied one and taking a few long gulps.

Neil snorted, "Probably shouldn't drink other people's stuff."

"He's my best friend, he can deal," he muttered, halfway towards trying to sink back into the wall in embarrassment. "So why exactly are you… over here?" he asked cautiously.

"Whaddya mean?"

"I mean… here. Talking to… me," he winced. "That blonde over there is into dudes, too," he gestured towards Kenny as he was given a trademarked blunt lecture by Stan, Christophe standing off to the side and shaking his head at their display. "He's more interesting… which is a term I'm using a bit loosely."

Neil snorted, "Blondes aren't my type."

"Ken'll be anything you want him to be," he rolled his eyes a bit.

"True as that may be, I didn't _want_ to talk to him I wanted to talk to _you_."

He narrowed his eyes, just unable to believe the situation unfolding in front of him. He was so rarely on this end of things, usually watching Stan or Kenny enduring this kind of treatment and just on standby if they needed a fake boyfriend and an easy out to swoop in. "But _why_?"

He shrugged, "You seem like you're the smart type. Why do _you_ think?"

Kyle blinked, rubbing his arm sheepishly and biting his lip. "Uh, I'm gonna guess a lost bet."

Neil raised his brow in slight amusement, "Uh, no. I think you're cute, so sue me."

Kyle's face erupted at the term, eyes dropping back down and gulping. He usually hated that. Hated it with a _passion_ whenever someone called him something even _remotely_ close to that but… not here. He didn't know if it was the alcohol or just the desperation, but he was one-hundred percent A-Okay with whatever the hell this man wanted to call him. Two distorted reflections appeared on the waxed hardwood flooring in front of him and he looked up, finding Stan and Christophe watching him with smug grins.

"Who's your friieennddd?" Stan drawled.

"Stan, leave," he spat through his teeth, grabbing Christophe's beer and shoving it into his hands. Stan looked around for his own bottle before seeing it in Kyle's hands, giving him a pathetic pout. "You've had enough, _leave_ ," he stressed.

Glazed blue eyes flickered between him and the taller man, a small, knowing smirk crawling up the edge of his lips at Kyle's finicky fingers and reddened cheeks. "Dude," he looked at Neil, pointing at Kyle. "He totally wants to fuck you."

"STAN!" Kyle snapped, putting his eyes into his palm and shaking his head.

"I can _tell_ ," he insisted.

"Marsh, you drunken piece of sheet," Christophe hissed, grabbing the back of his shirt and towing him away from their mortified friend, shooting Neil a look to tread lightly with wherever he took this information. Stan whined as he was led off, Neil turning from Christophe's sharp gaze to look down at Kyle still hiding in his hand.

Kyle could feel the amused stare and sighed irritably. "I'm going to just stand here. In this spot. Just like this. Until I eventually die," he muttered.

Neil shrugged, finishing off his whisky and tilting the glass a bit in his hand. "I mean, that's a shame since we could spend the time that'd take doing something much more entertaining. Away from your embarrassment into a different, _much nicer_ kind."

Kyle raised his head in the slightest, looking up at him through the fire on his cheeks towards a handsome smirk. Neil leaned down towards him and shrugged. "I didn't come over here _just_ for conversation," he reminded him, a hand sliding up into red curls. Kyle blinked before the man was pressing forward and planting their lips together briskly, Kyle's eyes widening and entire body locking up. Neil pulled back, shooting a saucy grin, "But… it's up to you," he said slyly.

Kyle just nodded, "O-okay," he whispered.

Neil kissed him again, Kyle melting a bit with a contact and smiling dopily as he pulled back. "How about I pay for our drinks and you go tell your friends you're leaving?" he cooed.

"Dude I had like, five or six beers, you can't pay-" he stopped with another kiss.

"I want to," he promised, standing straight and moving past him off and away towards the bar. Kyle stared after him for a moment before breaking into a smile, head whipping around and scanning about, finding Kenny hovering above the crowd with his lanky slouch. He broke off into a brisk walk, dodging people on a mission towards his friend as he looked around the room for someone else to pursue.

"Ken!" he called excitedly, moving faster as Kenny turned towards the voice and smirked at his arrival.

"'Bout time you got off the wall," he teased. "What's up?"

"I'm leaving."

Kenny pouted, "Dude! You just got here!"

Kyle squinted, "Kenny, we've been here for _three and a half hours_."

He looked around in a bit of shock, "…Huh," he said softly. "Damn. Time flies I guess. Still, you can't leave, Man. Stan drove us, and if you leave, then we all have t'-"

"I'm leaving with _him_ ," he grabbed Kenny's sleeve and pointed towards Neil at the bar.

Kenny's lips curled into a proud grin, "The dark haired guy, right?" Kyle nodded and Ken slapped his back a bit. "Atta _boy_!" he proclaimed. "'Bout time he goddamn talked to you."

Kyle paused, looking up at him and tilting his head, "What are you talking about?"

Ken snorted, "Dude. He's been staring at you since we _got here_."

He looked between him and Neil. "Seriously? He's been staring at me for almost four hours?"

"Maybe he's shy," he cooed, pinching his cheek. "Yer just such a _fine_ lil thang he didn't know how t' get ya." Kyle shook his head, hitting him with the back of his hand and quickly finishing off the last of Stan's beer, handing the bottle over to him. Kenny took it with a laugh and elbowed him. "You'll give me the deets, right?"

"Only if you never say 'deets' again," he scoffed, reaching down and untying his jacket from around his waist. It was almost weird; Neil certainly didn't _seem_ shy… He shrugged to himself. Then again he was flanked all night by Stan and Christophe, he wouldn't exactly feel comfortable approaching someone with them lingering around either.

Kenny smirked, watching him slide on the fleece fall coat and softly flicking his head. "I'll tell Stanny and Chris to not expect your company anymore tonight then?"

He nodded, "Dude, he's a fucking doctor. And he looks like _that._ Someone's gonna have to _pry_ me away."

Kenny laughed loudly, leaning down and knocking their heads together teasingly. "You get that educated dick, Ky. I'm rootin' for ya."

Kyle rolled his eyes as he finished buttoning his jacket, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Your support is truly needed, thank you. I don't know where I'd be without you."

"At home playing with numbers and _not_ about to ride a doctor," he drawled, giving him a wink. "Have fun, Ky."

"Plannin' on it," he smirked, heading off and away from him back towards Neil waiting at the bar. He walked up to the man watching him with a kind smile, Kyle's toes curling in the slightest as his body heated with the attention.

"Ready?"

Kyle nodded, both of them moving to head towards the door, Kyle biting his lip in excitement as a hand hit his lower back and led him onward. He glanced back to Kenny giving him an enthusiastic thumbs-up and shook his head with a quiet laugh, cracking his neck a bit and sighing at Neil's hand rubbing over its chosen spot. He grinned to himself warmly.

Okay, so maybe the guys were right. One night torn away from his work was definitely _not_ the end of the world.


	3. Chapter 3

_**A/N: Warning here. This chapter is long and brutal. Noncon, a LOT of injuries, and just overall a not fun time. If that is not your thing, do not read this chapter mkay? Mkay.**_

 _ **Rest of you sickos like me who relish in this stuff tho, you enjoy~**_

* * *

He tasted like whisky and weak tobacco; it was a strange, but warm sensation as it danced over Kyle's tongue. The frigid night air seemed but an illusion as they stood outside, seemingly unable to make it two steps without launching forward against the other and curling their fingers in one another's hair. Kyle was on a high he hadn't had in a damn long time, relishing in every single moment and lingering brush against his hips. He shuddered as a strong hand wrapped around his waist, squeezing and pulling him forward to grind against. He was losing himself in the whirlwind of hormones, only able to comprehend the sensation of touch and taste.

A deep, husky hum broke through Neil's throat, Kyle's spine rampant with tingles as lips found his ear and teeth nipped the lobe. "Your place?" he murmured.

Kyle blinked, "Uh… I-I didn't drive here," he managed to stammer out, fingers listlessly climbing up and curling around Neil's sleeves. "A-and I didn't ask my roommate-"

"Hm," he mused, biting him again. "I can get us a cab and a motel then?" he hinted.

Kyle's face flushed, nodding in enthusiasm and feeling him shifting around for his phone. He was tugged closer, teeth latching down onto his neck. Kyle moaned, hand slipping up and around to his thick, dark hair and entangling his fingers in the locks, keeping him down against his skin. He perched up on his toes, forcing himself harder against Neil as he planted long, searing kisses along the stranger's own throat. The sensation of stubble brushed over his cheek, Kyle embracing every pinprick of sensation latching onto him so roughly. He let out another happy, warm hum, hand tracing down and hooking limberly around the back of his neck, a smile spreading over his face as teeth and tongue played against his jugular.

Neil shoved his phone back in his pocket, both hands going to trace along Kyle's backside and grip at his ass. "Just a few minutes," he promised. "They're pretty much across the street."

"Good," he purred, letting out a soft sound as fingers dug into his back pockets and pulled him up higher on his toes. This felt nothing short of amazing, he hadn't done this kind of thing since _high school_ when an unfortunate two too many shots of tequila landed him in bed with someone who was not happy the next morning to discover just what gender he was apparently attracted to while drinking. After being chased out when he'd barely gotten his pants on and having to walk home barefoot, Kyle decided drunken hook-ups were not his thing. However, eight months' worth of unintentional celibacy were snipping what few strings were holding that old motto together.

He was vaguely aware as Neil began leading him further into the parking lot with his back turned, easily guiding him with his hands and reassuring nibbles on his chin and throat. The faint sound of a car pulling up behind them passed in one ear and out the other, Kyle's brain unable to comprehend more than one thing at a time for the moment, and he knew precisely where he wanted _all_ of his attention to fall. He was led up to the idling vehicle, Neil reaching past him and opening the back door, putting a hand on his head and guiding him backwards and down to slide into the car. Kyle finally took note of his surroundings with the separation from Neil's mouth, glancing to the front of the car and seeing a set of dark eyes staring him down in the rearview mirror before they flickered back downwards. Kyle glanced at the back of the front seats, eyes narrowing at the lack of identification of whoever the fuck was driving them.

His attention was snatched away with a gentle hand cupping his chin and pulling his attention back to his companion, who gave him a simple, reassuring smile. "Uber's cheaper than a taxi," he admitted with a small, sheepish shrug. Kyle smiled back and nodded, not exactly familiar with their process, but at least one of them was, he supposed. He jerked a bit as the car launched into motion, not even having the time to get his damn seatbelt on, but vehicular safety flew far and away as that hand on his face brought him back forward, soft lips pressing against his own and that tongue pushing between his teeth yet again. Kyle's lashes fluttered before falling still and closed, his fingers trickling up and cupping around Neil's head, unable to help an embarrassed smile as a hand began to trace up and under his shirt.

They shifted closer to one another, lost in the heavy panting and the sound of the rock station playing moderately loud from the speakers behind them. One of Kyle's wrists was grabbed and brought down, hand pressed against a growing erection and he hummed, tongue swiping around Neil's mouth and his palm slowly rubbing over the mess he'd created. His heart thrummed with excitement, stomach twisting in delicious nerves at the outline of skin resting under a layer of denim. His gallantry hit a spike, eyes flickering to their distracted driver before turning his attention back, fingers trailing up and undoing the button of Neil's jeans, pressing down past the fabric and relishing in the surprised gasp stealing the air from his mouth. He nipped Neil's lip softly, gripping around the solid skin and running his thumb tantalizingly over the head.

The man let out a subtle laugh, pulling his mouth from Kyle's and moving to his ear. "How much attention do you think he's payin'?" he asked, air taken from Kyle's boldness.

Kyle shrugged, hand still playing its teasing game. "Wouldn't know, I'm a little distracted myself."

Lips curled against his skin. "Well why don't we see?" he purred, hand raising and pressing down indicatively on Kyle's head.

He looked between him and the driver, his drunken haze mugging all but his goddamn conscious of all things. "Isn't this his car though?" he murmured.

Neil shrugged, kissing his cheek. "He picks up someone as good looking as you, he should know things won't stay clean."

Kyle snorted and rolled his eyes. "Flattery only gets you so far."

"Considering where your hand is, I'd say I'm pretty far already," he countered. Kyle glanced down at the skin in his hand illuminated by passing streetlights and bit his lip. Well. He wasn't _wrong_. He stole another look at the driver, seeing those dark eyes locked on the road and he took a deep breath, a rare mischief playing over his face as he scooted back and lowered down in the seat. Propping himself up on his elbows and leaning over the man's thigh, his hands worked to free Neil's cock from as much of its confines as could be managed. He swallowed down a mouthful of nerves at the prospect of being caught, the thrill urging him forward with a long swipe of his tongue curling up the hot skin.

His lips parted, taking the cock between his teeth and eagerly going to work, overloaded with unknown taste and smell and reveling in it. Fingers threaded his curls, stubby nails pressing against his scalp as he leisurely bobbed his head along, letting his tongue roam as it pleased. Soft sounds from the back of his throat crept under the guitar solos sweeping in the background, letting the divots of the road dictate how far Neil's hips would buck into his mouth. He moaned, satisfied with the smooth, clean taste flooding his mouth. Pulling back up a bit, he let his tongue lap around the head, lusted eyes tracing up to see a face staring at him in the darkness, a small smile across his lips. Kyle was somewhat lost in the gaze, a deep part of him missing having such a reaction directed at him from boyfriends of times passed.

Kyle returned the expression before dropping his head back down, moaning as the digits in his hair tightened, little forceful pushes demanding he take more and more with each bob. Lazily, his hand stroked beneath his working mouth, wanting to prolong the moment, get his _full_ attention when they got to the motel. A long sound left him at the notion, not realizing in the whirlwind of events the last few months just how much he'd _missed_ having someone to relieve some stress with. No more coming home and getting railed against the dinner table when someone pissed him off, no more 'I'm sorry you're feeling kind of down' blowjobs. No more getting to focus all his energy on someone else or having the sentiment returned. Coming home to either an empty apartment or Christophe just chilling on the sofa didn't exactly bring any sort of mitigation for the nonstop torrent of life.

But this? This definitely seemed to be heading in the right direction, something to keep him sated for at least a few more months before allowing himself to tear away from his work and go back on the hunt for just that one night of letting himself go.

A few particularly rough bumps in the road forced Kyle to take him to the back of his throat, eyes watering and feeling a shudder rushing through Neil's thigh he was situated upon. He tried lifting his head a bit, making a quiet, frustrated noise as the hand in his hair refused to let him up any higher than just barely being able to keep his airway open. He wormed his fist up a bit higher on the shaft, propping his mouth up enough to be able to sneak in a few heavy breaths.

The car rolled to a stop, Neil catching Kyle's side to keep him from sliding off the seat. Kyle let out a soft cough, finally allowed to raise his head up and clear his throat. He paused, hearing the sound of the driver-side door opening and slamming shut, looking up front and blinking at the lack of a driver. "Uh. Where-" he turned his head, chest clenching in an eerie suspicion at the lack of downtown lights, only seeing trees and moonlight spilling between them to rest on wooded terrain. "…Why did he take us here?" he asked, looking at Neil who just shrugged, tucking himself back into his jeans.

Kyle eyed his nonchalance skeptically, glancing through the back windshield and seeing the driver slamming the trunk shut. He gulped. Maybe a flat tire… maybe he had extra gas in a canister back there… But Kyle was never one to ignore his instincts. And his were just _screaming_ for him to get out while he still could.

Another sound caught his attention, feeling a rush of brisk, cooled air on the back of his neck. He hadn't managed to so much as pivot his head before hands snagged around him, Kyle screeching in panic before one slapped over his mouth. He gasped, clawing at the cloth seats as he was dragged backwards out into the night air. Neil casually turned, getting out of the other side of the car and sending Kyle's chest into a clustered fit. He'd been tricked.

He'd been _targeted_.

He howled as he was forced off the seat and slammed onto the forest floor, eyes opening to three hovering figures, Neil popping up alongside them. His body flew into a frenzy, flailing and kicking against the car, trying to propel himself out of their grips. A rough yank of his arms pulled him away from the vehicle, the man clasping over his mouth ripping his head towards him, Kyle whimpering at the vaguely familiar appearance of the driver. "Don't fuck up my car," he hissed.

Kyle twisted, kicking out towards one on his right hand side by his leg, his thigh snared and shoved back into place. He arched up, wrists trying to do more than just allow him to scratch at the air in his limited reach pressed down beside his head, groaning as his legs were knelt upon to keep them still. He could hardly bounce an inch off the ground, eight hands keeping him planted and staring at him as he struggled. Their faces were silhouetted in the moonlight, shadows wrapping around their profiles and obscuring any visual details he _might_ have been able to pick out were he not in near-hysteria.

"C'mon," one of them snapped. "Hurry up!"

Neil moved a knee onto Kyle's hip, ignoring the pained groan from the pressure and snagging a bag from beside the car, shuffling through the materials. Kyle's breath was shallow and rapid, mouth opening and snaring his teeth down into the hand over his lips. The driver hissed, pulling his hand back and shaking it out.

"LET ME GO!" Kyle blared, head jerking around and trying to make distance between himself and his attackers.

"Scream all you vant," the largest of the group scoffed, Kyle flinching at the sudden influx of a heavy Russian accent. "Ve are too far for anyone to hear."

The connotations were numerous and staggering, Kyle realizing all at once that he was likely about to be fucking _murdered_. He gritted his teeth, trying to rip his limbs back towards himself. "Fuck, just take my fucking wallet!" he pleaded. "I don't have anything else!"

"Don't want your money," Neil replied, not the slightest hint of the situation in his tone. Kyle glanced down towards him, jaw trembling at long strands that caught a glint in the night's lighting. The man passed them off and a long cry of dismay left Kyle's throat, eyes wide and unblinking at the ridges of thin, twisted cables being handled in such an easygoing manner. He yowled as knees bore down on his upper arms, fingers clenching as they tried to fight off an influx of pins and needles running rampant through his nerves. He shot his head over to his left arm as a thin chill suddenly wrapped around his wrist, barely able to catch the shadowed vision of the cable's tail passing through a loop and snugly pressing into his skin.

"No! No, stop!" he shouted, going back to his useless thrashing as both wrists were attacked with the chilled bite, Kyle feeling every ridge pressing into the thin flesh, tight enough to lightly compress his veins and send him into an overwhelmed panic. A fist came crashing down all at once against his stomach, Kyle balking from the brute assault.

"Stay fuckin' _still_ ," the driver demanded.

He couldn't. _He couldn't_.

He had to get out; had to escape whatever it was they were wanting to do with him. He groaned at his binds tightening down on his carpals, a few dry sobs leaking out into the night. "God, I didn't _do anything!_ " he shouted, trying to kick out from under the heavy legs atop his own. He screeched as his right arm was yanked by its hold, body jerking with it as his arm was relieved of the weight. He looked over at the large, towering form as he got to his feet, breath caught and teeth clattering as his wrist was pulled. He winced, feeling the pinch of steel digging deep into his flesh and bone, letting out a soft cry at another rough, taunting tug.

The Russian sighed, foot tapping, "Are you done yet?"

The man to his left made a small grunt of acknowledgement before nodding, yanking up Kyle's wrist as proof of his accomplishment. Kyle whimpered, looking between the four of them, his upper half slightly lifted off the ground by his suspended wrists. He watched Neil getting to his feet and slinging their bag over his shoulder, tossing a small bundle in his hand. "Turn him."

Kyle gasped as they tossed one another their binds and he crashed back into the dirt, the driver getting off his legs. He couldn't manage half a kick before they were both yanking viciously and Kyle's body painfully contorted, forcing him over onto his stomach. A thin, sharp slice pulsed through the side of his right wrist, feeling warmth running down his raised arm and crying out, trying to scramble up onto his knees and away. Neil came beside him and planted his tibia into his spine, shoving him back onto the ground with a cough. He grabbed a fistful of curls and ripped his head back, Kyle's upper body angled towards the night sky and muscles aching from the strain.

"All right," Neil said softly, tearing his head back further. Kyle whined, trying to back away from a glint moving towards his face, feeling metal pressing between his teeth, just nicking the corners of his lips. His tongue was overcome with the taste of steel, feeling the edge of a paper-thin blade digging just a tad deeper and whimpering. "Now if you behave, you _don't_ have to deep throat this, understand?" Kyle's breathing wavered, feeling four sets of eyes locked on him. He nodded a bit, the fingers in his hair relaxing in the slightest. "Bite down," he demanded. Kyle blinked but did as told, feeling the clink between his teeth and wincing at the subtle scrape against the enamel. "It falls out of your mouth, it gets used. Got it?" he asked, shaking him a bit.

Kyle whined, mind fleeting over his options. He could fight. Fight for his goddamn life and end up a battered corpse left to decay in the woods. Or he could comply, with possibly identical results. Tears squeezed out of his eyes and rolled down his cheeks, looking up into the starry night with a heaving chest. This was insane. He had no way to get out, and the four of them were growing impatient with his hesitance. He sniffled and nodded again, just wanting him off his back and out of his hair so he could maybe fucking _think_. Neil released the blade, Kyle feeling the light weight of the metal and crying out, digging his teeth down harder to keep it in place. Seemed like a razor blade, something that he could easily _swallow_ were he not careful.

"Good," the driver said, Neil hopping off his spine and the two of them reaching down to force Kyle to his feet. He gasped, trying to pull his arms back before two violent tugs yanked him forward. Kyle sobbed, trying to plant his feet and keep himself near the car, near his only possible escape. "Keep fucking moving," the man demanded, coming up behind him and grabbing the back of his neck. He shook his head, continuing to twist and pull against his hold, doing his best to ignore the brittle slices against his skin. Wire dug into the heels of his hands, wrists imploring for some form of compliance as the joints were stretched to their limits with his struggles.

Kyle's shoes slipped on the slick grass and loosely-packed dirt, knees bending as he pulled back. An irritated sigh arose from behind him, Kyle too lost in the throes of panic to notice until a strong arm wrapped around his waist. He looked back, Neil right behind him. He looked down as something cold pressed against his neck, whimpering at the thick knife pressing against his trachea. It glided up and to the angle of his chin, turning his head back to look at his assailant. "Keep moving," he repeated. "You keep moving, you don't die." Kyle blinked, unable to understand what their motives even _were_ if that was a compromise.

He growled as the knife pushed harder against him, reasoning fleeing and spitting the razor blade out of his mouth towards Neil's face. The man stared at him, unaffected as the broad side hit his chin and bounced off his clothed shoulder. "What did I tell you?" he asked. He pulled his knife back before slamming his foot into the back of Kyle's knee, sending him toppling into a curled heap on the ground. "Get him there," he ordered, looking in the moonlight for his razor. Kyle screeched as they started to drag him across the dirt, legs kicking and flailing, shoulders aching from the unexpected strain. He looked up at the partially-clouded sky, tears beading his lashes and unable to understand through a drunk, fearful haze what was happening to him. His breath hitched as the sky was blocked all at once by multitudes of branches sprawling from their bases like the scribbles of a madman. Dragging him deeper within, _guaranteeing_ no one would hear him, no one would see. He twisted against his pulling torment, groaning at fibers digging _deep_ into his wrists. His hands were going numb, fingers prickling, _feeling_ the blood trying to pulse its way through and fill them with life yet again.

"Let go!" he shouted, trying to scramble up onto his knees for stance before falling back over and down to their dictation. "What the fuck do you want?!" The men were silent, focused on getting him wherever they were going, and Kyle wasn't sure if the apprehension or the result was what was going to do him in at the end of it all. He winced as he was dragged over rocks and pinecones, the thin fabric of his jacket and t-shirt doing little to protect his vulnerable stomach. "I don't fucking _have_ anything!" he insisted.

"Not true," came the voice of one of the ones tugging him along. "You definitely have _somethin'_."

Kyle blinked at the ominous ambiguity, mind fleeting over possibilities. Maybe they just wanted to hold him for ransom? Maybe someone he knew owed them money? Was this what Christophe had fucking warned him about earlier with people knowing him? He thought briefly about the phone in his jeans pocket, how his friends were a fucking _button_ away, how he couldn't _get to them_. He gritted his teeth, toes digging into the dirt just quick enough to launch himself forward a good few inches and make some slack in his hold. His hands twisted upwards, snaring the coils in his palms and taking the strain off his wrists as he twisted up onto his ass, delving his heels into the ground for a hard stop. A hiss came through his teeth as his palms and fingers cut open as they slid down the material, trying to wriggle the cables out of their hands before a shadowed movement flew in front of his face. He managed a yelp before a violent impact ruptured against his forehead and eye, a boot slamming into the skin and sending him flying back onto the ground. He couldn't open his eyes, panting and fighting off the pulsing as he was kicked again in the side, Kyle rolling with the impact until landing on his back. The cables holding him twisted above his bleeding hands and snared them closer together, the group nonchalantly continuing down their path deeper into the woods.

Kyle's body couldn't seem to respond to his inner pleas to fight, rendered all but immobile in the threshold of terror and pain. He could feel warmth spilling down both arms, unable to comprehend the wounds themselves and coughing out a halfhearted sob. He felt so _lost_ , so _helpless_ , things that he so very rarely felt in _any_ circumstance.

"Here's fine," one of them muttered. His eyes creaked open as he felt himself being untwisted and lifted up by his chest. He whined, kicking a bit as he was slammed down over a fallen tree trunk, midsection draped across like a muslin doll. Kyle tried lifting his head, stopped with a firm hand pressing against the back of his skull. He looked up through drooping bangs to see the Russian and his counterpart casually holding his arms outstretched from the rest of him, wincing as his legs were grabbed and held together.

"Please don't," he whispered, unsure of what he was even pleading against, but on the brink of an unknowing hysteria nonetheless. A sharp shearing sound entered the night air, Kyle's throat cinching as he felt his jacket being lifted and torn, trying to withdraw from a sharp point passing up through his collar and nicking the nape of his neck. His heart pounded without a hint of rhythmic structure, trying to squirm as he felt the fleece of his sleeves being split like butter, pieces being ripped off from around him and tossed aside. The brisk air slammed into him as his t-shirt was left to battle the elements on its own, yelping as the front half of his coat was torn out from under him and thrown, Kyle watching the silhouette land in the distance in a lifeless fold.

"I told you what would happen," Neil repeated, Kyle narrowing his eyes before gasping, the back of his shirt pushed up and over his head, pressing against his throat. He froze, feeling a hand tracing over his bruising spine and his jaw trembled. Fingers once more found his hair, twisting into the curls and shoving his head forward. Face nearly slammed against rotting bark, he almost missed the sensation of cool, thin metal sliding over his back. _Almost_.

He screeched as it dug in at the top of his shoulder blade, rapidly slicing down at a shallow angle towards his left hip. His flesh opened compliantly for the razor, blood rising through the surface and beginning to ooze down the angles of his rag dolled form. The sting ran rampant through his core, Kyle sobbing dryly and screaming as the razor was pushed down against his opposite scapula. It dragged down just the same, a vicious X carved into him, the marking drowned out by trickling blood, torn wider as Kyle's body went into a hysterical autopilot, trying to thrash away from his torment. The cold of the air dug in deep into the wound, nature's iced fingers stroking tauntingly along his frayed nerves in their exposure.

He barely took notice of his arms' hold slackening in the slightest, too lost in his terror, in the unknown of what was going to happen to him. He just couldn't _understand_. The hand left his hair and he looked up, weakly seeing his tethering being exchanged and his arms crossing over one another. Another quiet whimper left him, rogue tears spilling down his cheeks. Hands hit his waist and he cringed, yelping as he was brutally flipped over. He hiccupped, eyes blown wide with pain as bark dug into the vulnerable nerves, ridges delving deep into the wounds and fibers scraping into the flesh. A yowl ripped out of him as he was tugged down in the slightest, hips dangling awkwardly over the edge, body contorted back into a balletic arch and stretched to its limits from his captive arms. His head fell back, Kyle panting and letting tears run up the sides of his nose and trickle down his forehead, doing his best to battle against the agony coursing through his back.

Fingers grasped his chin, his head forced to raise up and look at Neil hovering over him, neck straining from the angle. "This time, you fucking _listen_ ," he advised, Kyle whining at blood-stained metal pressing back between his teeth and his head thrown back down. Rasping breaths slithered through him, gulping against the pressure of fabric still planted against his throat. His tongue folded back in his mouth, an overwhelming paranoia of swallowing the blade coursing through him. Given, he wondered, maybe that would be better than whatever he was about to deal with.

Such fear came to fruition at once, feeling hands grabbing at his pant line and tearing his jeans button apart. He gasped, legs kicking and making only the briefest of contact against one of their legs before a strong hit slammed into his hip, body jerking from the assault. He wangled about, caught between wanting to scream and not wanting the fucking razor used again. Denim was torn down his legs, his shoes and socks ripped off and thrown out into the woods, landing with hard _thunks_ against trees before falling to the leaved ground with subtle rustles.

"NO!" he begged through his gritted teeth, hands twisting and slicing in their confines, legs trying to fight their way out of arms keeping them from flailing. His torn back scraped against the rotted wood, every bit of his body in a frenzy trying to figure out what to focus on, what he could do, _how to escape_.

He groaned as weight was all at once on top of him, a hand grabbing his hair and pulling him back up, that chill pressed back against his throat under the fabric of his t-shirt. In the paled moonlight, Kyle could read the expression of a man at the end of his patience, his own chest heaving as he felt his boxers being cut, forced to remain facing Neil. "Less you fight, less damage there is," he reminded him, pressing the blade firmer into his skin. Kyle nearly fell into hyperventilation as he felt the remains of his dignity ripped away from him, torn angles of fabric thrown off aimlessly and exposing him to the cold autumn air.

" _Don't_ ," he winced at the tip of his tongue brushing over the razor's edge. He flinched as Neil moved a bit, his legs forced apart and the man coming between them. Kyle tried again to move away as sudden hot skin was pressed down against his pelvic bone. " _PLEASE STOP!"_ he beseeched, yelping at minute cuts digging into his tongue but paying it little mind, far too focused on the heavy flesh bearing down on his compromised form.

"You were _begging for it_ just a few minutes ago," he reminded him, chilled tone gone in lieu of a sneering grate. Kyle whined, trying to wiggle away and wincing as the knife just nicked under his chin. "I'm just _indulging you_ ," he drawled, motioning for the driver to hop over the log and take over holding his knife, Kyle letting out a long noise of derision and disgust as hands trailed down his waist, palms turning and grabbing his ass just to hear him cry out. "Figure if you're _such_ a cock-hungry slut, you'd need more than _just_ me. We're just _helping_ you," he cooed, reaching into their bag and snagging a bottle, shaking it a bit and watching Kyle's shadowed form shaking so violently, feeling his tremoring legs around him. Kyle sniffled, fighting off nausea and a horror he'd never experienced before, almost lost in its clammy grip as the pieces of his situation began to fall into place.

He was trapped. Trapped and _alone_ in the hands of people who he didn't know who they _were_. No one knew where he was, _he_ didn't know where he was. The choices were beyond horrifying: Live through this, or die.

Problem was, he didn't know which would be better.

Kyle went rigid as slicked, blazing heat began to stroke over his hole, breath caught and the entirety of his circumstance tumbling over him like a landslide decimating a village. "Don't… Please... DON'T. _**DON'T**_ _!"_ he shouted, head falling back and anguish spilling out of his mouth as his body was forced to accept the large, hard skin pressing inside without the slightest preparation. The muscular walls clenched, entire form in an uproar, trying to fight, trying to get Kyle through this and numb him down for minimized pain. His bound hands clenched into unfeeling fists, nails digging into his palm, cresting through his ripped skin as the unwelcomed cock sank deeper inside.

Neil reared back and thrust back down to the hilt, Kyle arching with a shriek before hands and the knife brought him back down onto the trunk. His tongue flew forward through his noise, midline sliced all at once in his frenzy and he gasped, tasting iron leaking down into his throat. He choked, head swiveling to the side and panting, body rocking along as he continued to be violated. Kyle cried out, feeling blood pooling into the inside of his cheek, eyes closing and hearing nothing but his back scraping against the bark, the dull thud of hips against his ass and the quiet sounds of _enjoyment_ and _amusement_ surrounding him. Tears wouldn't stop, a scared whimper breaking free as arms wrapped under his knees, spreading his body further apart at the man's dictation.

He was scared. He was _terrified_. And he was alone. He was so fucking _alone_.

The blood in his mouth began leaking out of his lips and trailing down his cheek, the influx too much for him to handle and submitting, spitting out the blade again to rid himself of the mess of fluids collected in his cheek.

He whined at the knife pressing harder, "What'd we _fuckin'_ say?" the driver demanded. Kyle stayed silent sans his agonized noises, frankly just too overwhelmed for anything more as he was pounded into. He let out a yip as the blade moved upward against his cheek, sliding cleanly down his face. The skin split open, stressed as he opened his mouth for another screech into the night.

"STOP! JUST STOP!" he finally broke, breath labored as the knife made way down his chest and stomach, feeling the contemplation dripping down through the weapon. He arched again with a cry at a hard thrust, a firm cut on his hip following suit. The tip halted at the end of the slice and tottered, playing with the notion of digging right in, finding itself an organ and destroying any hope of his survival.

Neil snorted, never breaking his rhythm and watching satisfactorily as Kyle's body continued to slide and open for his accommodation. "He wants his mouth so bad? Make him use it," he suggested.

The driver looked down at Kyle's unknowing, glistening face and smirked, bringing his knife back and dipping down under the stretched metal cables. He came between Kyle's outstretched arms, the men keeping them taut moving a bit and widening the distance between them as the driver forced his head back to its natural sloped position. Kyle creaked open his eyes, heart clenching at the upside-down view of pants being undone only inches from his face.

"No," he croaked, wriggling only a moment before stopped with another violent push inside. He folded his lips in, biting down as the driver's cock popped out of its confinement, hovering far too close to Kyle's face for comfort. Blood continued spilling from his tongue, Kyle forcing himself to swallow down what bits he could manage, refusing to let his mouth drop open again. A sharp cut slipped up across his chest, tears falling down Kyle's forehead and stifled cries leaking out as his throat was yet again compromised.

"Open or I _stab_ ," he threatened. "And it won't be somewhere that kills ya. Not yet."

He sobbed in a broken, jumbled tempo, unable to sort his options. Either was awful. _Everything was awful_ , and no matter the choice, he _lost_. His mind fleeted to Stan, Kenny, and Christophe. All probably still at the bar, happy and warm and drinking the week's woes away. Kenny was probably rambling about how he wanted details of Kyle's 'adventure', simultaneously hitting on every moving thing that he could find. Stan would be awkwardly looking around, trying to balance himself between looking but not _ogling_ as he attempted to sober up, the man always wary that Wendy had a spy everywhere watching him. And Christophe, well, Kyle wasn't sure. Maybe just drinking, maybe talking. He didn't know. He didn't _care_. He just wanted to be there. He wanted them to rag to him that he was alone, that he needed someone, and then just going home and going to bed. _Anything_ but this.

"Fucking make up your mind!" he demanded.

Kyle sniffled. Whether or not he wanted to admit it, he'd more than made up his mind long before the nightmare had truly begun: Survive. He had to _survive_. Cuts would heal, death would _not_.

His trembling jaw parted in the slightest, eyes bursting as the man saw his opportunity and took it, digging down into his mouth, Kyle barely having the time to flatten his wounded tongue down. He groaned in disgust at the unfamiliar taste rushing over him, head pressed down further at its horrid angle and straining, feeling a brutal pinch of his nerves. He choked at the flesh touching near the back of his throat, mouth filling with saliva. He sputtered and coughed, mouth opening wider to try to rid himself of the spit and blood trying to drown him, the man picking up speed and thrusting against his face.

Kyle could scarcely manage a breath on each pull back, Neil's thrusts trying to push him deeper onto the other's dick. Every ounce of focus went into finding a breathing pattern, more than happy to allow his distorted mind to hone in on just a singularity, unwilling to let his mind settle on the terror he was being subjected to.

"There ya go," Neil cooed, fingers tracing over the cut on his hip, digging in the tips of his nails into the wound to hear him gasp in pain. He hiked Kyle's knees up just a bit more, spreading his legs wider for himself and watching the darkened vision of Kyle taking in every inch that they gave him, the subtle quivers from his torso as he fought to keep himself grounded and alive.

The driver hummed, pushing harder, smirking at Kyle yelping at his balls hitting his nose in the slightest, how he was struggling so damn hard to keep himself from retching from the abuse. "Keep it up and you keep that pretty face of yours," he added, tracing the knife up and over his chin time and again, letting him feel the promise of consequences to be had.

The threat couldn't quite reach Kyle's ears, only making out the sloshing sounds of his cock pressing through wads of fluid he couldn't cough out, wondering with a start if he was going to dry drown, if that'd even be _possible_. A sharp slap hit his wounded cheek, Kyle managing only a half of a yelp before cut off by skin yet again. "You seemed to like it in the car," Neil taunted, nails digging in, leaving the foundations of dark marks in the flesh of his thighs. "You were so _good_ at it." Kyle tried kicking again, stopped with a rough slam that rattled him to the core, every single thrust on either end draining the life out of him. To him, each push was _ruining him_.

Another wave of saliva flooded his mouth, Kyle coughing, feeling drool and blood leaking out of his lips and down his face, chilled by the brisk fall air and clashing against the humiliated flush on his cheeks. His tongue throbbed in agony from the rutting, his wound splitting wider from the force. He yowled intermittently as his legs were thrown up over Neil's shoulders, his weight bearing down over him and his speed picking up. Kyle tried yet again to kick, arms tremoring in exhaustion and faint circulation, his entire perception torn asunder. Neil held out his hand, the knife pulled away from his throat and handed off, Kyle not even noticing until a sharp cut slipped across his upper thigh. He gasped, a hand holding his chin steady as his mouth was fucked, legs twitching with each slash against them.

The heavy taste of skin, the brutal sensation of his torn muscles being thrust into… he just couldn't understand. He couldn't fucking _understand_. Out of every _fucking_ person in that bar, he just couldn't figure out why it was _him_ going through this, what he'd done to make himself a target. His eyes scrunched shut, choking for air as Neil leaned harder against him, body folding in on itself as he slammed into him, the echo of skin-on-skin clashing around them through the trees. He could feel heavy breaths against his chest, the subtle twitch of leg muscles from the man in front of him. Kyle shuddered, tasting warm, salted solution sliding on his tongue and trying again to focus on a breath with each rear back.

He just needed to get through this. Needed to let this end and let him get help. He whimpered as fingers dug deep into his hips, feeling their bruising grip and a jerking loss of rhythm from Neil's assault. A long groan snuck into his ears just under the barrage of other sounds of frenzy surrounding him, Kyle arching in surprise before being shoved back down, cut back tearing wider with the impact and feeling a pulse from the cock buried inside of him. Warmth was all at once released deep down, Neil finally coming to a stop and panting with his dick still nestled within Kyle's flinching body. He tongued over his lips, hand running over the multiple, erratic carvings on his left thigh, smearing blood up and down his leg before bringing his hand back and down hard onto the side of his ass. Kyle screeched and squirmed until the man _tediously_ pulled out of him, making sure he could feel him dripping out of him.

Hands redirected to his shoulder and hair, fingers twisting in his curls and forcing his mouth to open to its limit. Kyle couldn't breathe, lungs crushed from his compromised position, cock moving too fast for him to keep up with. He could hardly work out a groan, trying to fight his way down from his hold to get a minute intake of air. His eyes shot open in panic as his mouth was filled all at once with come, spurts shooting down his throat and catching him off guard, body thrown into a choking, sputtering frenzy. The hand on his chin tightened, keeping him still as come dripped out through the top of his mouth, drizzling down over his right eye, up the brow bone and his forehead. _Finally,_ the cock left his lips, Kyle taking in a deep gasp of air before coughing at remnants still lingering, head twisting in their grip to the side so he could spit and pant, the air once again graced with the sound of his bewildered bawling.

"There ya go," Neil cooed, thumb stroking under the deep gash in his cheek. Fingers traced his body, so careless as though exercising a right that Kyle had granted him. Kyle was too out of his element to pinpoint what was happening where, nerves heightened enough for each casual touch to _burn_. "See, not so bad once you behave, is it?"

Kyle wept, jerking away from his hand on his face. " _Let me go_ ," he whispered, voice trembling and empty. He couldn't find his anger, his need for revenge that he so often dug into when backed against a wall. Here, he was just scared. Scared and miserable. He _just_ wanted to go home, forget this happened, pretend there wasn't a world outside his bedroom walls.

The man in front of him ducked back down under his arms' cables, Kyle's chest rattling with a needed breath and a slight tinge of relief before that hand was back on his cheek. " _You're not done yet_ ," Neil informed him, Kyle's eyes shooting open as he felt warning tugs against his arms.

" _No_ ," he whispered, shrieking as he was pulled over the log and onto the dirt by his wrists, landing with a sharp pain digging deep into his upper back. He hiccupped frantically, trying to keep his ground as he was dragged towards the other two. "NO! NO, PLEASE!" he begged, leaves and twigs swimming up into his fresh cuts. He whined, squirming helplessly as he was reeled in, the gullible fish unable to escape his hooked fate. "STOP!" he tried again, hoarse throat fighting to project.

He was brought up to the others, their shadowed forms towering and daunting in his panic. He cried out at the sight of a glinting container being caught in the taller man's hand, trying to move up to make a break for it before a shoe planted down on the side of his head. His legs flailed, trying to dig his toes down into the dirt to propel himself out, another foot smashing down into his hip and planting him down. "Just hold steel and eet vill be over soon," the Russian said, passing his cable off to the driver as he worked with the bottle in his hand. The slightest bit of slack was given to his left wrist, Kyle's fist curling and rearing back, slamming into the man's shin. The man paused, looking back down at Kyle's punching form and glaring. "Stop heem vill you?" he demanded.

The driver shook himself into attention, still reeling in afterglow fuzziness but yanking Kyle's arm down and onto its side, forcing it to remain on the ground. The Russian smacked his lips at Kyle's whining, movements slow and purposeful, only paying him the slightest bit of attention before raising his boot and letting it fly down, crushing Kyle's outstretched hand. An ear-shattering scream ripped out of Kyle's throat, feeling bones shifting and popping, his palm and fingers instantly picking up a frantic throbbing as the shoe was removed. He began rasping for breath as he tried moving his fingers, unable to do so without agonizing pulsations shooting down his arm. He screeched as his arm was again pulled, pressure digging into the compromised bones as Neil and the driver took their cables and traded with each other over his back. They backed away and watched the Russian kneel down behind Kyle's blubbering form and grab under his hips, hiking his ass into the air and kicking his knees apart.

"God… please… _stop_ ," Kyle pleaded, able to only wriggle about in an escape attempt before a rough thrust filled him again. His right hand dug into the ground, face buried in dirt and grime and trying to escape this nightmare as he was rocked further into the soil with every push. A pathetic attempt to crawl away was halted at once, his arms being pulled again and crossing over each other, stretched to their limits beneath him. His face was soaked, his head pounding, cuts and ruined hand pulsing just the same. He couldn't take much more of this, he was on the brink, wanting to just pass out and wake up to this all being _over_.

His throat was suddenly constricted under his shirt yet again, yowling as he was torn upright with a strong palm around his neck, an arm secure around his hips to keep him in place to fuck. His hair was ripped up, bloodshot, burning eyes creaking open to another heavy cock swinging in his face. He sniveled, curls tugged in warning. "You know what happens when ya don't cooperate," he was reminded by his holder.

Kyle took a heavy, shaking breath, knowing well enough by now that fighting was a moot point. He shut his eyes, tears continuing to leak down his face. Quicker this was over, quicker he could go home. Or they would kill him. Either way, _this_ horror show would finally be over. He forced his quivering jaw to open, grunting at the taste of skin once again laying heavily upon his tongue and right away beginning to rapidly rut.

Green eyes went hazy as dissociation tried to grab onto him, unable to grip onto a coherent thought as he was used, his back forced to arch even further, the hand on his throat tightening to keep his head up and straight. Hot words spilled into his ear, moist breath bouncing off his matted hair and bruising neck. Only a few phrases slipped in through the coalescing mist: _"Preetty boy." "So tight." "Should have known better."_

He was right, Kyle lamented in his loss, coughing and wincing as his arms were stretched further atop one another, feeling the bottom of his abdomen and hips aching from the hold he was in. He should've fucking _known better_. He should've gotten his phone and called the guys the fucking _second_ he got suspicious of something else afoot. He never should've let Neil, or whatever the _fuck_ his name was, get the cab. He should've listened to his fucking _brain_ , not his goddamn _dick_. He should've fucking stayed home and worked on his project until he passed out. Could've. Would've. Should've. Didn't.

"Hey, are you listeneeng?" the man behind him demanded, squeezing his throat. Kyle sniffled, a soft, pained moan coming out in response. "He said to _suck_ ," he drawled in his ear. Kyle shook his head a bit, punished with a violent thrust into both ends, his eyes bulging and everything going rigid at once. "I vould suggest you do eet," he hissed.

Kyle scowled all he could, shoulders sinking. He hurt. He hurt so fucking _much_ … but actively _participating_ in this degradation could downright destroy him. Another warning squeeze wrapped around his trachea, Kyle blinking off a new barrage of tears. Get it over with quicker, he kept telling himself. That was the goal, to get this to _end_. Face flushing and body spiking with dangerous amounts of resentment, he hollowed his injured cheeks, utterly captured between the two of them. His slashed tongue protested the continued usage, Kyle shutting down every ounce of thought he could, eyes closing and trying to get himself focused on what was waiting for him at the end of this nightmare.

His bed, his pajamas, a nice, _hot_ shower where he could scald off every inch of their touch. He could shed them, let it all swirl down the drain and away from him for good. The guys would take care of him, they'd get him through this, they'd protect him with their goddamn lives. This would _all go away_. He just had to get through this and he would immediately get better… right? Fat tears rolled down his cheeks, head forced back into the man behind him as his face was fucked faster, unable to keep up with the speed and just focusing on prompting his endangered throat to relax as much as he could make it in his adrenalized terror.

"Get his shirt," a voice called, the hips pressing into his ass slowing in the slightest. Kyle froze as the hold on him loosened, fingers in his hair tightening to hold him in place as he felt the last remains of fabric being cut away from him. He flinched as the sleeves were torn through, the pieces of cotton ripped off and leaving him stark naked. Kyle couldn't find the logic in that, in _any of this_ , all his attention fleeting as he was grabbed again firmer than before, both cocks working harder and faster inside of him.

"Fuck," the man before him spat. Kyle's nose smashed against his pubic bone and he whined around his dick, the vibration too much and he ripped out of his mouth, Kyle coughing and his hair tugged again. "Open your fuckin' mouth," he demanded. Kyle creaked his eyes open, seeing him stroking himself and sniffling, getting jostled. " _Now_." He shakily complied, mouth opened just a tad before recoiling back from come bursting onto his face, splashing against his tongue and running down his chin and chest. Kyle panted, vision going fuzzy with disgust before a sharp slap ricocheted across his bleeding cheek, head snapping to the side as his curls were relinquished.

He gasped as he was shoved back down onto the ground, not having the time to comprehend what'd happened before fat, heavy fingers slammed down over his skull and kept him steady. He gritted his teeth, the burning of his ripped muscle overwhelming, the minimal lube surrounding the man's cock doing nothing but aggravating the tears. He hissed, grunting in pain with every thrust, his left leg grabbed and pulled to spread wider, spine locking with the friction blazing inside of him. Each jolt shook his injured hand, stretched his cuts, furthered the gashes in his wrists, reminded him _relentlessly_ of every single fucking thing that'd happened to him since he left the safety of the bar.

' _God, just finish,_ ' he prayed, unable to handle the notion of this continuing on into the night. The pressure against his skull was staggering, Kyle going woozy, hearing and sight fading in and out as his eyes focused blankly towards the fallen trunk. His face scraped against the dirt as he was dragged back and forth, not quite able to comprehend the cruel words and the nonchalant laughter surrounding him. He caught the briefest glimpse of a glow beside the trunk, recognizing a lone firefly aimlessly flittering about. Disassembled thoughts convened on the oddity of one out when it was so cold, Kyle wondering if it was just as lost as he felt; if _it_ was also wondering if it'd ever see its family, its home ever again. It darted away deeper into the woods and out of Kyle's sight, his jaw trembling. By himself again. Maybe that was just his fucking fate for tonight that he couldn't escape: He was meant to be alone.

He let out a startled scream at a hand slapping down hard on his ass, cringing into himself as the dick pulled out of him, his body convulsing at the sudden change. He groaned and shuddered as warmth splattered onto his back and ass, fingers squeezing the fleshy globe a bit before another smack crashed into him, Kyle losing cohesion and collapsing onto the ground. He coughed and curled into himself a bit, feeling all four sets of eyes locked down on him, relishing in his fall and their acquired victory. Kyle didn't know what to do; he couldn't run. He couldn't fight. He just had to lay there. Lay and wait for them to make the decision of what to do with him. Lay there and relive what had been done to him.

He sniffled, silent tears beading along his lashes, eyes too pained to keep them pouring out before a hard boot slammed into his chest and jerked him into attention, finding himself flying onto his back. Another sharp jab into his upper back lurched him up with a screech, the Russian walking over and yanking him up, pulling something from the skin and tossing him back down. Kyle looked up weakly to see the razor blade twisting in his fingers, gleaming diabolically in the moonlight. "Deed you not even know eet vas there?" Kyle gulped, wondering what _other_ wounds he could've missed in the panic.

His question was short lived as his arms were tugged up yet again, Kyle screeching through his teeth at a horrid pain rippling through his right shoulder. He was dragged through the dirt and grass yet again, teary eyes watching the stars and clouds as he was taken deeper into the woods, wondering if they'd lied, if this was it. If they'd had their fun and were ready to bludgeon his skull in and leave him for the animals to find.

' _Not like this,'_ he prayed, biting a split lip and sniveling. _'God, please don't let me go like_ _ **this**_.' He groaned as they finally came to a stop, his body limp and tremoring as his binds were maneuvered about. His eyes widened as he watched them securing him to a young tree, gulping. God, what if they left him out here to _starve to death_? He shivered. No, no the _cold_ would get him first. He yelped as his legs were grabbed again, looking down at the other two holding him and tying his ankles together with the same coiled material. He winced as it scraped tiny marks into his thin, frozen skin.

"See if he can move his arms down," Neil called. One of them reached up and snagged his elbows, dragging them down towards his stomach.

"Yep, he's good!" they informed him, going back to working on his feet. Kyle looked down with an empty sigh as his legs were tugged in the slightest, heart sinking as they moved to tie the taut binding to an opposite tree. He slumped, unable to comprehend what was happening, throbbing head not willing to try to work it out just yet. He still hadn't caught up, every ounce of him still back by the fallen oak being cut and violated time and again. He gulped, wondering if he'd ever get away from that fucking tree.

He cowered as a hand touched his face, looking up to see Neil knelt down beside of him, the other three hovering behind and watching. "Now," Neil said calmly, Kyle quaking at the casual tone making its reappearance and the hand stroking back tangled bangs. "Here's what's gonna happen," he reached into his pocket, holding up a device and switching it on, Kyle squinting at the influx of bright light and barely recognizing his own phone's wallpaper. "You're gonna call your friends. You're going to tell them you're in Starks, and that you're a mile due East of the pond. You're calling your _friends._ Not the police," he emphasized. " _They_ are to call the cops. Understand me?"

Kyle nodded a bit, blenching as he gave a series of doting taps against his forehead.

"After they get to you, you can do _whatever_ you want. Tell them every single thing if it makes you feel better. Because we're gonna be loooong gone by the time anything comes together. Only condition is don't you die. Because we're gonna be in some trouble if you do." Kyle narrowed his eyes, baffled by such a statement in the midst of all they'd done to him. Neil cocked his brow, scrolling through Kyle's phone and clicking his tongue. "Here we go," he cooed, pressing a name and holding the phone to Kyle's ear, moving his uninjured hand up to hold it down against his head, Kyle hissing at the strain against his shoulder. "Stan's your best friend, right?" he smirked, Kyle's blood chilling and jaw shaking as the phone rang time and again. Kyle closed his eyes, praying for him to be his goddamn lifeline already.

His heart jumped at a distinct click and a _"Hey, Dude. Thought you were out with someone._ " He took a deep breath, shaking from his tone. He'd been gone long enough for Stan to fucking sober up. God, how long had he been _out here_?

"Stan," he rasped, sinking under the stares of the men watching him. "Stan… help."

" _Dude, speak up. I can't- Ken, stop!_ " he spat, Kyle gulped, hearing the phone being wrestled away from Stan's grip.

" _You're driving anyway, dick nugget,"_ Kenny huffed before turning his attention to the phone. " _Kyleeee,"_ his chipper voice appeared. _"Figured you wouldn't come back 'till tomorrow from Dr. Handsome. How was your examination? Did he take your temperature in a non-medically approved method? Come onnnn I was promised detailllls, tell me where he stuck that thermometer,"_ he sang. Tears leaked out of Kyle's eyes, a few soft sobs breaking through his throat. Kenny paused, the line going quiet for a moment. " _...Ky? You okay?"_

" _Help_ ," he begged. "K-Kenny, I… I need _help_."

" _Help? Whaddya mean you need help? Dude, what happened?"_

" _What's going on?"_ Stan's voice picked back up.

" _Stan, pull over, I can barely hear him_ ," Kenny ordered, a few moments passing of just Kyle crying, the microphone hardly picking up his noise. He cringed at Neil touching his hair a bit, mindlessly picking out a few leaves. _"Kyle_ ," he picked back up. _"Ky, did you say you need help?"_

" _Put eet on speaker,"_ Christophe demanded from the background, Kyle instantly picking up the echoes of the road outside of Stan's truck. _"Kyle, where are you? Are you all right?"_

"Starks," he breathed out. "D-due East… pond… a… a m-mile… Help me, _p-please_." He yelped as his chin was grabbed again, the phone slipping out of his grasp and falling in front of his face.

" _Kyle?!"_ the group shouted from over the phone, muffled orders for Kenny to call the police going on while Kyle was forced to look up at his attackers.

Neil smirked, "If it's any consolation, I really _do_ find you pretty cute, Kyle," he purred, Kyle's stomach going sour hearing his name from that poisonous mouth. "Now. You just relax, let us finish, and wait to be rescued," he said in a soothing tone, Kyle gasping as the Russian hopped behind him and knelt down, grabbing around his neck.

"NO, PLEA-" he was halted as his fingers tightened down deep against his throat, Kyle choking and trying to thrash away, Neil grabbing his arms to keep him from scratching at the man's hand. Kyle's vision began steadily creeping into further darkness, head becoming heavy within seconds as airways were compressed. He couldn't hear his friends screaming for him over the phone, a last, weak glance up showing nothing but Neil's ominous, grinning face. A mere nine seconds went by before his eyes slipped shut and he slumped, body gratefully taking any kind of escape from what he'd endured and letting him slide off into unconsciousness. His strangler immediately released his throat as he slackened.

Neil checked for a pulse and nodded as he felt it pumping away, the group getting to their feet. He swung Kyle's torn, stained t-shirt up over his shoulder, watching the others gathering items from around them and placing them into their duffle. Without another word and with last looks at their victim, they made their way out of the clearing and back towards their car. Stan, Kenny, and Christophe continued to shout from the other side of the phone, stoutly echoing around their unconscious friend. The noise never reached Kyle's ears as he laid bound on the forest floor, temporarily calmed and free of his pains at long last, and, as far as his quieted brain was concerned, his nightmare _finally_ at its end.


	4. Chapter 4

The first thing he saw was an isolated light shining in his eyes, retinas burning as he looked directly at it, the haze weighing him down telling him that it was the sign of his end. That the pain would be over, that he hadn't made it.

" _I FOUND HIM!"_ a voice screamed out into the world. Kyle's blinking was lethargic, unable to comprehend as someone knelt down, not touching him, flashlight angled off of him and watching the victim with heartbroken eyes. "Oh _Jesus_ ," he murmured. "Kid? Kid, you okay? Can you hear me?"

He heard. He heard, but he didn't understand.

Angels speak a language you never comprehend, he'd read once. You can't translate it until they finally take you home, or until your life's lesson is delivered unto you. But they see you, and you see them. With warmth and compassion for the injured and whittling soul, they would embrace them, guide them on to their next life, speaking nonsense all the way that one would consider to be nothing more than gibberish, but find a maternal comfort in the ethereal canticle. Kyle's body rattled with a frozen breath, wondering when he'd be taken from his chains and onwards into the next world, more than ready to leave this broken body into one full of vigor once more.

"I need paramedics NOW!" the angel shouted, Kyle hearing footsteps approaching the both of them.

His dulled eyes slithered up to a beam of light bouncing off a glinted golden plate upon the angel's chest, his split, chapped lips moving as his brain tried to decipher the wording. _Det. Murphy_ , it read. A name, his angel had a name. And he could read it. He must be closer to home than he thought, his distorted mind coaxed, whispering to him to distract him from his aches.

"HOLY SHIT, KYLE!" a vaguely familiar voice called.

He looked as three faces slid down in front of him, looking horrified as he stared back, expressionless. More lights beamed down onto him, someone shouting from beside him. He had a _caravan_ of them, all of them here for him, sent by God _just_ for his lost and broken spirit. Hands began carefully cutting away his bindings, Kyle's eyes never breaking from the three watching him with their hands clasped over their mouths as they were forced to move backwards. Kyle's lips tried to tell them not to go, his throat refusing to make sound.

"Don't fucking move him!" someone bellowed, Kyle hearing a feminine inflection within the command. "Sir? Sir can you hear me?" a hand touched his arm genially. Kyle didn't move, the hand squeezing him just enough to feel the barest of pressure, a promise to be taken care of that even through his fog, Kyle could recognize and latch onto. "What's his name?" she demanded.

"K-Kyle," one of the three responded, voice cracking in heartbreak.

"Kyle? Kyle, Honey, we're going to take care of you," she promised. Hands suddenly surrounded him, Kyle gasping in panic and trying to squirm away, injured body telling him that being touched was _awful,_ that he needed to _run_. "No, no, Honey, don't move," that soothing voice popped back up, soft fingers gripping around his head, Kyle feeling something pressed up against his back. "Kyle, we're going to take you somewhere safe," she swore. "Is he untied?"

"Yeah, he's good," someone answered her.

She nodded, the eyes of her fellow paramedics on her. "All right, one, two, three," she dictated, the group genially rolling him onto his back on a stretcher, the woman biting her lip as she kept his head straight with the rest of him. Kyle's jaw trembled as he was situated in the middle, his arms carefully moved to his sides and a thick blanket hastily thrown over him. He glanced up, seeing the illuminated blonde curls of a ponytail from the woman above him, locked steadily in kind eyes. "You're going to be all right," she promised.

He didn't understand, but he felt the comfort of her words regardless. Something snug slid under and snapped down around his neck, Kyle flinching at the feeling before that soothing voice cooed down to him once more, his racing heart trying to slow itself as the world began to drift away into eternity from what he could tell. He stopped trying to decipher their alien language, body slinking again as he was lifted and hurried away, fading off to the sounds off footsteps and orders being shouted. As far as he could tell, he was safe. And the angels were taking him where he belonged.

* * *

" _Kyle? Kyle? Bud, come on,_ " someone begged.

Kyle's eyes scrunched at the intrusion, the world all at once alit again with a stampede of noises and the hurried sensation of movement. Hands and arms cupped underneath him, keeping him steady and setting him down on a padded surface. He tried to open his eyes, whimpering at bright white slamming into his pupils, body tensing and his mouth fumbling as he tried to revisit the world.

" _We need him awake first!"_ a voice snapped.

" _He needs fucking treated, Sergeant, we can't wait!"_ an opponent proclaimed.

" _Kyle_ _ **please**_ ," that imploring intonation continued, quivering as Kyle coughed lightly, struggling still to open his eyes. _"Wait. Wait, he's waking up!_ " they shouted, the rest of the voices shutting down and Kyle _feeling_ the attention of the room settling on him. His breath staggered, feeling a comforting hand wrapping around his shoulder and he let out a pained cry, the palm ripping back from him at once.

He finally managed to creak his sight open, trying to sit up and unable to, finding himself in unfamiliar territory and his pupils shrinking in fright. He gasped out a few times, quaking and wondering just who the hell had a hold of him _this_ time. A brunette head popped up over him, Kyle squeaking before settling as familiarity fell into their facial features, recognizing a profile at long last as Christophe stared at him with those same murky eyes. "Kyle. Are you awake? Can you 'ear me?"

Kyle tried nodding, his head stuck in place and he whined, eyes flittering around in panic. " _Help. Help. Help. Help,"_ he rasped, entire body in hysteria, unable to bring himself down, but unable to raise his physical self _up_ all the same.

"Kyle, Kyle you are fine," he assured him. "You are safe. You are een ze 'ospeetal."

He blinked, lost in the words and gulping, wincing at the sharp pain barreling down his throat at the motion. He watched with a desperate gaze as Christophe was pulled back from him, two men he didn't know looking at him in an odd mix of sternness and concern.

"Kyle, my name is Sergeant Yates," the one closest to him introduced himself. "Can you answer a question for me?"

"…I-I... I don't…" he whispered, jaw trembling at these unfamiliar people staring him down, making a small note of how his tongue throbbed, unable to remember what could have caused such a strange injury.

The second sighed, giving a sharp, angered look at Yates. "Kyle, what's your last name?" he asked him, needing _some sign_ of comprehension.

"Bro… Broflov… ski?" he finished, still overwhelmed and scared. He glanced around briefly, seeing beeping machines and pristine walls, a crisp, starchy blanket thrown over him, eyes widening at splotches of red seeping through the fabric.

"Mr. Broflovski," Yates got his attention back up. "Kyle, you were attacked, do you remember it?" he demanded.

"Uh… u-uh…" he shied down, their intimidating stares halting his train of thought. A gentle hand touched a clear spot on his arm, his gaze stolen to his right side to see Kenny looking at him with a trembling lip.

He moved closer, Kyle taking a deep, shaking breath and feeling a string of comfort with the familiarity in front of him. "Ky," Kenny coaxed. "Kyle, the doctor wants to help you, but he needs you to tell him first."

His eyes widened, pupils shrinking yet again and lashes batting in a frenzy, chest heaving as Kenny looked on in frozen horror at the disaster unfolding at his feet. "Doctor?!" he squeaked, the word unleashing a torrent of pushed back cuts and words, feelings and sights that his mind was trying so desperately to hide from him.

Kenny's face paled, realizing his mistake and rubbing Kyle's arm. "Buddy, Bud. Not that one. A _good_ doctor," he assured him. "He's gonna help you, I promise. You just gotta say so so this _fucking cop_ will let him!" he sneered up at Yates who glared back in return.

"Mr. Broflovski," the officer got his attention back over. "Mr. Broflovski, will you consent to a kit?"

He blinked, the words not quite clicking in the influx of happenings surrounding him like an EF5. "K… k-kit?" he whispered.

"Ky, they wanna catch who did this to ya," Kenny explained. "They wanna run tests. Will you let 'em?"

The group stared at him for a moment, Kyle looking down at his arms and whimpering, turning them in the slightest to stare at the deep gashes on his wrists, the finger marks embedded on his forearms, all barely visible under a thick coating of caked dirt and torn grass. He nodded all his brace allowed, "O-okay," he whispered.

"Good. Boys, Sergeant, _out_ ," the doctor ordered. Kyle gasped at the prospect, turning his arm and grabbing Kenny's wrist, hissing at his shoulder throbbing from the movement but refusing to let Kenny budge from beside him. So little made sense, but the idea of being alone rang loud and clear, unwilling to allow such a notion take hold over him.

Kyle looked at Kenny, eyes shining with pleading tears and Kenny bit his lip, looking at the doctor. "Can one of us stay with him? He's pretty freaked out."

"Fine. One. That's fine but we _need_ to take care of his cuts _now_ ," he said, turning and snapping gloves on.

Christophe hopped to his feet, nodding at Kenny. "I weell go out weeth Marsh, 'opefully 'e 'as stopped pukeeng by now," he rolled his eyes. He looked at Kyle, giving him a softened expression that he'd never seen on the other's face. "You weell be fine, Kyle," he promised, turning on his heel and heading out the door behind the grumbling officer. The boys watched after him for a moment, both of them hearing more lingering in his tone despite the jumbled circumstance bearing down on them.

"Sir, I need you to step away from him," the doctor said, holding his hand up at Kyle's displeasure. "He'll stay where you can see him, Kyle, but I need to look at your cuts, all right?"

Kenny patted his arm, "I'll be right over here," he assured him, backing away to a cleared spot by the room's wall, plopping down in an offset chair and never taking his eyes off of Kyle's shaking form as the doctor approached him, observing his anxious expression with caution.

"Kyle, does your neck hurt?" he asked, keeping his voice soothing.

He blinked, coughing a bit, his right hand raising, speed hindered by pain, and gesturing to the front of his throat. "Here," he rasped.

"Just your throat?" he pressed, Kyle making a quiet sound of confirmation. The doctor waved a nurse beside him and she held Kyle's head steady, Kyle's jaw shaking again as the doctor's hands made way towards his neck. "Shh," he coaxed. "I'm just getting the brace," he assured him, gently pulling off the stiff dressing, looking at the bruises splayed across his skin like a scarf, his fingers lightly pressing on the back and sides of his neck. "No pain when I do this?"

"No," he whispered, looking past them to Kenny's devastated face, a spiral of guilt he couldn't pinpoint the reasoning for beginning to settle like exposed molasses in his aching chest.

He nodded, "Good, then that's one thing off the list." He tapped Kyle's cheek for his fleeting attention, dulled green that twisted his stomach locking into his, seeing the half-fogged suspicion of his actions ringing through. "We're going to turn you over," he informed him. "I'll talk you through everything I'm doing, all right?" Kyle bit his lip, looking again at Kenny for his opinion and getting an encouraging nod from his friend. He echoed the movement all the nurse's gentle fingers would allow him, the doctor stepping away for a moment and another nurse taking his place.

Kyle cringed as the two of them stepped up on either side, helping him lie down and preparing to turn him over. With agonizing precision, they got him onto his stomach, coaxing him down from every pained noise he uttered, pulling down his blanket to the very bottom of his back, stopping just a few inches below then ending of his hips' marks. Kenny's eyes widened, hand covering his mouth at the disaster of the carving cascading down his friend's spine, making out stray pieces of bark and remnants of come left along the wound. " _Christ,_ " he whispered.

"Hon, we're going to take quick pictures and then fix you up, is that okay?" one of the nurses asked, patting his head dotingly. Kyle sniffled, coughing out an agreement and slamming his eyes shut, the other nurse snagging a digital camera from a drawer and quickly stepping around at various angles, trying to hurry along so the doctor could begin his work. The subtle sound of the shutter documenting his torment fell flat in Kyle's ears, sweat beading his brow, feeling the cuts expanding with each breath. The nurse leaned in close, taking a couple of close-ups of the stab wound in his upper back, shaking his head in the slightest as he tried to get a clear shot with the mud trying to conceal it. The nurse stood back up straight, nodding at the doctor and putting the camera aside, the three of them going back into action and adjusting their gloves to take care of their patient.

The doctor grabbed a clear, plastic bag, snagging a set of tweezers and leaning down closely to pick twigs and bugs drowned in blood from inside the layers of tattered flesh. "Get his wrists," the man ordered the nurses, both of them moving his arms up to either side of his head with great care. Kyle slammed his eyes shut, groaning and twitching. "What hurts, Kyle?" he urged, continuing his detailing.

"S-sh…shoul…" he trailed off before erupting into a scream as pressure hit his left hand, the nurses letting go of both of his arms for him before moving closer.

Kyle's eyes welled with tears, quietly sobbing as he wandered through his loss with nothing but pain and half-recognizable words to guide him through it. "I think his hand is broken," the nurse on his left murmured. "Kyle? Can you move your fingers?" He shook his head, unwilling to put himself through the strain as the pulsating continued.

The doctor sighed and bit his lip. "Wrap it and splint it, we'll get him x-rayed after we're done here-" he paused, looking down at rapidly increasing tremors wracking through Kyle's body, pallor flesh quaking and beading with more sweat. His back heaved with labored breaths, dried blood splitting back open and wounds oozing once more. Kyle's eyes were stuck on the wall across from him as everything began to meld and mesh into a distorted, mangled being. The doctor cursed under his breath, putting his hand on a clear portion of his spine. "Kyle? Kyle, I need you to talk to me," he demanded.

Kyle couldn't hear him, his heartbeat drowning all other noises, the rapid tempo bearing down on him. He wondered how the walls weren't shaking from the powerful bass pulsing through him. He couldn't make out the hurried orders being dictated above him, the world trying to escape him yet again. He could just barely make out Kenny getting to his feet in his peripheral and hurrying over, bending down in front of him and talking to him. His voice was muffled, Kenny trapped in a box that Kyle couldn't breech, doomed to see and see alone. Blonde hair and blue eyes turned dark brown and swampy hazel, Kyle wanting to scream, wanting to escape. He thought he was _safe_. He was wrong _again_. Tears fell down his cheeks, not feeling as his arm was pulled up and turned, the pained sensations fleeting as an IV found its way into his skin without his knowledge.

No, no his attention was locked, set on the hallucinogenic vision of a man who'd hurt him, who his weary brain was trying to force him to forget. Random recognitions settled in one at a time like spiraling dominoes, the feeling of dirt and come stuck to his chest and face, of tiny rocks and pieces of twigs buried into his back. His hips ached, his veins pulsed as they tried to recover what he'd lost. The stale taste of come and blood circled his mouth, his lips parting in the slightest as horrific memories tried to piece themselves back together, twisted around one another in a nonsensical timeline that he couldn't understand.

"Ky, stay awake!" Kenny's voice barely broke through the mental box separating them. "Bud, you _gotta_ stay with me!"

Kyle refused to let the words hold any meaning, too tired and too anxious to let comprehension weigh him down. His eyes slipped closed, hearing the sounds of more pleading and more directions fading off and away, once again allowing himself the privilege of escape. Once again he was running into the darkness, where none of this mattered, where the only danger he had to face was an apprehension of coming back into the light yet again. But, that could wait. He was just too tired to face the inevitabilities for now.

* * *

It seemed to get harder every time.

Every time he tried to come back into consciousness, something so desperately wanted to hold him back. Maybe it was pain, maybe it was an unwillingness to deal with the situation. Kyle didn't know, nor did he particularly care in the moment, knowing he needed to open his eyes and see what the fuck was happening.

He groaned, shifting back a bit, feeling himself propped up on an incline, pillows under his back and head. Sterile metals and the crisp aroma of starched fabrics washed over him like a tepid tide, his confusion mounting as he fought to get his eyes in working order. His head fell limply to the side, gaze shaded by thick lashes as he tried prying his lids open. He squinted at light coming through a crack in paisley blue curtains, tired brain whirring as he tried to absorb the information.

Daytime. It was daytime. He shifted a bit, nestled back on firm pillows. Last he remembered was moonlight weaving through trees, stars glimmering down on him as he was moved, dragged further and further until they disappeared under the cover of sprawling branches…

His eyes widened, undeterred by the burning the sunlight and fluorescent bulbs bestowed upon him. He jerked up a bit, looking down and taking a shuddery breath, finding himself in a diamond-patterned hospital gown. Kyle whimpered, his right arm secured in a sling, left hand trapped in a hard, plastic splint. Stark bandages and taped gauze smothered his wrists, leading to a carefully placed IV tube spurning from his forearm. He looked around the room, seeing machines beside him beeping steadily, his eye drawn to the pulsing of his heartrate monitor and biting his lip. Scanning about, he tried to absorb his surroundings before pausing on his right side, blinking at three figures in chairs slumped over and snoring softly.

He narrowed his eyes a bit in concern. Had they been with him all goddamn night? He looked over their attire, vaguely remembering Kenny wearing that same obnoxiously bright shirt when he'd seen him last. Kyle shuddered, seeing that thumbs-up he'd given him, that pride on his face as he was led out by his biggest mistake. By the reason he was in this fucking room.

"Guys?" he croaked, wincing at the strain on his tongue and throat, coughing softly. His tongue felt swollen, confusion settling in with a rough texture laying atop the muscle and pressing against his hard palate.

Christophe jolted up, blinking in surprise at the noise before settling, letting out a long sigh of relief at Kyle's confused stare. He turned and shook Stan next to him. "Get up, 'e ees awake," he informed him, both he and Kenny stirring and trying to catch up to the world as Christophe got to his feet, making way towards the bedridden man. "'ow are you feeleeng?" he asked him.

"Horrible," he whispered, splinted hand raising and resting on his head. "When did I get here?"

"Zis room or ze 'ospeetal?" he questioned.

"Um… t-the hospital."

"Last night. We found you about feefteen meenutes after you called."

He blinked, "Called?" he repeated. "When did I call?"

He looked over at Stan and Kenny stumbling up beside him, watching him with tear-filled smiles. Stan sniffled, "Dude, holy shit, we didn't know if you'd wake up again." Kyle looked down again at his battered body, feeling awakened aches worming their way through his system before turning his attention back upwards.

"When d-did I call?" he repeated, mind unable to fill in blanks they were handing him.

Kenny bit his lip, "How much do you remember from last night?"

Kyle looked down, brow furrowing in thought. "Um… I-I remember… leaving the bar. A-and… and being attacked. But it's… fuzzy…" he gulped, cringing and moving his hand down to his pulsing throat. "What the fuck," he whispered.

"Zere are some neck eenjuries," Christophe said, voice laced with pity. "Zey would not tell us more zan zat you are lucky zat zey are minor."

He looked up at them, teeth clattering lightly, "What else?"

Stan looked away, rubbing his arms and shaking his head. "Um, your hand is broken. We looked up the kinda break we overheard 'em say and it looks like you have to have surgery on it and get pins… a-and your shoulder is dislocated."

"Well. Not anymore," Kenny muttered. "They popped it back in but you're gonna be slung up for a few days at least…" he paused, looking at Kyle's bewildered expression and sinking, sniffling a bit. "You lost a lot of blood," he whispered. "Like… a _lot_. They had to give you a transfusion. You kept waking up and passing out… they weren't sure if you'd get through it."

Kyle turned forward, staring off blankly in front of him and taking a shaking breath as slowly but surely, pieces began falling back into place. Parts of his horrific night spliced alongside one another, bursts of hearing his own screams echoing off into the woods flooding his ears. He sniffled, biting his lip as the last observed bits of terror sunk into the marrow of his bones. "They made me call you," he whispered, almost to himself.

The boys looked at each other before back to their distraught friend, Christophe clearing his throat. "Kyle. 'ow many were zere?"

"Four," he said quietly, a subtle flinch racking through him at the vivid memory of the ominous figures looming over him, giants to he, a mere ant caught in their smothering trap of honey.

"What exactly 'appened?" he asked.

"Ky, if you don't want to tell us right now, that's fine," Kenny interjected, shooting Christophe a bit of an angered look. "You just woke up, no need to talk about it if you don't want to."

He looked back at them watching him, concern seeming etched onto all their features. He sniffled, another shuddering breath rattling through his sore chest. "I… I don't _know_ what happened," he croaked. "He… he called someone and… a-and they drove me to the woods and… they all g-grabbed me… I-I just…" his head dropped, left arm raising and covering over his eyes as he tried to find some semblance of control, feeling a hand comfortingly rubbing the back of his neck. "I couldn't fucking _do anything_."

"Kyle…" Stan's eyes shone over. "Dude it… of course you couldn't…" he looked at the other two, lost for words.

"Zere were four," Christophe muttered. "Very few would 'ave been able to do any'zeeng. What ees eemportant ees you are alive. Zey weell find who deed zis."

Kyle dropped his arm, looking at them in a pathetic, helpless expression that threw the three of them for a loop, not used to such a face from him. "I wanna go home," he whimpered, feeling a film of filth over him that no amount of hospital scrubbings would resolve. He needed to do it on his own, scrape himself down with a pumice stone until he bled, get it _all off of him_.

Kenny's shoulders sank, "Dude, you can't. Not yet. You probably need to get your hand fixed up and… and they need to talk to you about… stuff," he murmured.

"Stuff?" he repeated. Christophe reached down to the side of the bed, pressing the call button and looking back at him with a steely gaze.

"Zere ees more zat 'appened to you. And… some zat might 'ave," he said, choosing his words with care.

Kyle narrowed his eyes a bit in confusion before turning at the sound of the door opening, blinking at a nurse hurriedly stepping through and shooting him a kind smile. "Oh good," she said in relief. "I'll go get the doctor unless you need something right now."

"N-no?" he answered, watching her nod and step back, her footsteps receding down the hallway until the door clicked shut. He leaned back against his pillows again, wincing at a sharp pain rocketing through his back.

"God, couldn't they have given me fucking pain killers?" he groaned, head falling back and his eyes slipping shut as he tried to straighten out his breathing.

Kenny patted his knee softly, "They couldn't until you woke up, Bud. We tried to get 'em t', but with your throat all messed up they had t' see how you're breathin'."

Kyle sighed, looking back up at them and cringing a bit at the creeping red vines splattered throughout their sclera, the worry for him that they wore like armor, no doubt having trudged through the night in a frenzy until he was stabilized. "I'm really sorry."

Three brows slowly raised. "For _what_?" Stan blinked.

"You've been here all night. Because I was fucking _stupid_ ," he growled, eyes burning as he looked back towards the ceiling. " _God_ I was so stupid."

"Kyle, you were not stupeed," Christophe said, a stern frown overshadowing his face. "You never could 'ave known zis would 'appen."

Stan cleared his throat, "Though… did… did they say… why?" he winced, feeling the two surrounding him narrowing their eyes in the slightest at his inappropriate phrasing.

Kyle slowly blinked, racking his brain through the bits and pieces of dialogue he could remember, so much of it blocked by brutality he couldn't be sure if he'd heard _anything_ correctly. "I… I don't think so," he whispered. "They didn't want my money… I-I don't know what they wanted me for."

Christophe took a long breath, "Well. From ze looks of eet… zey got what zey wanted. Zat was probably zeir eentent."

Kyle shut his eyes, face twitching as Stan and Kenny glared at Christophe's bluntness. Kyle couldn't particularly argue with his statement. From what he could remember, they certainly didn't miss any steps in doing what they did, came prepared with a fucking _bag_. Kenny told him he'd been watched all fucking night before being approached. He sniffled. This took wrong place, wrong time to a level he didn't know he could have achieved, unable to grasp onto the slightest bit of logic as to him being singled out. But then again, he was no fool. There didn't _have_ to be a reason more than they just fucking wanted to. They wanted to do what they did and he just happened to be in their line of sight… his shoulders sank, wiping over his eyes with his arm once again and sniveling. He truly didn't know _what_ to think, just lost and feeling that crushing loneliness despite the other three bodies in the room with him.

They glanced up at the door opening again, Kyle vaguely recognizing the face of the exhausted doctor as he stepped into the room. "How are you, Kyle?"

"Awful," he muttered, getting a sympathetic glance from the man.

"I'm not surprised," he nodded. "I'm Dr. Jordan, I've been the one working with you all night."

Kyle bit the inside of his cheek, "Um… thanks?"

He smiled and chuckled, "No, I just mean that I'm the one who knows everything that's gone down, no chance of missing something to tell you." Kyle nodded a bit, shifting uncomfortably on his bed. Dr. Jordan looked between him and the boys, focusing back on Kyle. "This stuff is up to you if you want them to hear it."

Kyle glanced at them and shrugged, "No, it's up to them. Not like what happened's a secret," he muttered, shying down at the pitiable expressions his friends gave him.

He sighed, grabbing a raised chair from the wall and sliding it beside the bed, looking at him steadily. "All right, to be blunt, you have a _lot_ that needs taken care of." He paused, assessing his distraught expression and setting his lips into a firm line, trying to fight off a weary yawn. "Do you know what was used to cut you?"

"Um… a-a razor blade and a knife that I know of," he looked down somberly.

"Well, we had to stitch every laceration, all of them were fairly deep," he winced. "I'm sure you feel the ones on your tongue." Kyle nodded, the rigid texture gliding over the roof of his mouth. "Those will dissolve, but the others you'll have to come in to have removed." He cracked his neck and sighed a bit, "You'll need to get a tetanus shot, and we'll send you home with some antibiotics for that and a few other… possibilities," he shrugged.

Kyle looked back at him, "Possibilities?"

"Preventative in case anything was passed to you," he explained gently. "You can come back in about a week or so when you're feeling a little better and we'll get you through some STD tests. And, we'll run the tests anyway, but do you know if there was any blood passed from them to you?"

He contemplated for a moment, eyes scrunching in thought. "Um… m-maybe. I bit one of them… I don't think I broke skin, though. I can't remember."

"Fair enough," he nodded, snagging a file folder next to Kyle's bed and flipping through it, snagging out a couple tomography images from the hold and moving closer to Kyle. "All right, now there was some pretty significant damage done elsewhere," he said.

"Goodie," Kyle muttered, looking down at a CT scan of a head and neck, wincing at the knowledge that he had no idea that'd even been taken.

Dr. Jordan held one up, Kyle narrowing his eyes at a top-down discernible blob shape. The doctor gestured to a prominent white arch up near the top. "All right, see this? That's your hyoid bone. It was fractured, most likely when you were strangled. That and…" he snagged another image and pointed to a thin line that meant nothing to Kyle's untrained eye. "You have a minor fracture of the larynx. Hate to phrase it like this, but you're lucky. It could've been a lot worse and required surgery, or we could have not gotten to you in time had it been more severe."

Kyle sank, the brutality of the truth in his words sinking into his bones. He recalled having been told he wasn't supposed to die, but apparently they had no problem making sure he was right on the precipice. "So… what does that mean?" he asked softly.

"Does it hurt to breathe? Or talk? More than just your throat is probably dry as hell right now?" Kyle shook his head and the doctor nodded. "Okay, then that's good. Pretty much it means keep an eye on that, stay on soft foods for about two months and sleep with your head elevated. Other than that, just be careful and we'll do a couple checks to watch it." He snagged a radiograph from the bottom of the stack, Kyle cringing at the clear image of shattered bones in his hand.

"Jesus," Kenny murmured, Stan whirling his head away from the x-ray and swallowing a mouthful of bile.

Dr. Jordan let out a long breath, pointing to the multiple breaks in separate bones. "All right, you have comminuted breaks in your palm, ring finger, and pinky. And a hairline in your thumb. You need the others set, so we'll have to take you into surgery as soon as we can be sure you can handle an anesthetic."

"Fucking Christ," Kyle groaned, leaning his head back and taking a deep breath. "So all that, shoulder, anything _else_?"

He leaned back, tucking the images away and tapping the folder on his leg. "A lot of deep bruising on your chest and back. But you're not hurting while you breathe, so no rib damage, which is good," he gave him a small shrug before clearing his throat. "Some minor frostnip on your fingers and toes, we'll keep an eye on that… And there's also some… pretty bad tearing," he said quietly. "Not enough for stitches or anything but enough that you're going to be pretty sore for a while."

"Perfect," he grumbled, face flushing over.

The man stared at him for a minute, letting out a long sigh. "Listen, I know you're dealing with _a lot_ right now. We're going to keep you a few days while we do the surgery and keep an eye on your throat. We have special counselors here for this kind of situation, and I'd be more than happy to get one here-"

"No," he interrupted, looking away from him and down towards the floor. "I don't want to talk about it."

Stan, Kenny, and Christophe shared a look before turning back towards Kyle's bowed head. "Ky…" Kenny started. "Maybe… maybe you should-"

"I don't _want to_ ," he said through his teeth. "I'll talk to the cops. That's _it._ "

Dr. Jordan nodded, "All right. That's completely your decision, and I'll let the authorities know you want to pursue this. They'll probably contact you a few days after we release you."

"Fine," he muttered, heaving a heavy, miserable sigh.

The doctor rubbed at his eyes, stifling yet another yawn. "All right, and there's also the evidence situation we need to discuss." Kyle glanced at him with a raised brow before looking back down to the tiled floor. "You gave us permission to take a kit but then you kept passing out. If there's any kind of evidence you want omitted, we need to know before it's passed onto the police."

"What is there?" he murmured.

He bit his tongue for a moment and let out a subtle breath. "Pictures of all your wounds. DNA samples. Most all we could get were swabs from what was left on you. From what we were told no one could find your clothes… How many assaulters are we looking for?"

Kyle's head dropped further, cheeks burning with shame. "Four. Whatever. It's fine. It's all fine, just give them what they need."

The man nodded and got to his feet, patting the back of Kyle's neck gently. "I'll send in a nurse with some pain medicine and to check your vitals, all right?"

"Thank you."

The boys standing watched the doctor make his way out of the room, waiting for the door to close before looking back at Kyle still staring bitterly at the floor. "Kyle," Christophe started, "You should not 'ide zis. Per'aps talkeeng weell 'elp."

"I don't need help," he murmured, settling back into his pillows. "Unless they come with a fucking time machine and slap past me over the head, it's not going to do much."

Stan winced, "Dude… maybe they can help… I don't know… figure out what happened."

"I _know_ what happened," he spat. "I was _stupid_. I went off with someone I don't fucking _know_. Then he and his buddies outnumbered me and decided I was a great place to stick their fucking dicks! Seems pretty fucking cut and dry to me, Stan!" His voice echoed around the room, fading out with his anger and replaced with a meek, defeated intonation. He slumped at their heartbroken stares and sniffled, tears glossing over his eyes. "I… I thought they were gonna kill me," he whispered, a rough sob escaping him. "I-I didn't even know what they were doing until… until they _were_ ," he hung his head down, shaking and feeling tears tracing down the gauze slapped over his cheek wound. "And I couldn't fucking DO ANYTHING!" he shouted, ignoring the vibrational strain on his broken voice box.

Kenny hurried to the other side of his bed, Christophe stepping aside so he and Stan could both move in close to their best friend. "Hey, hey," Kenny cooed, a gentle hand in his curls. "You're gonna get through this, okay?"

"Right," Stan agreed. "One step at a time, Man. Just you know… focus on getting better, and if you wanna talk to someone down the line, you can."

Ken shrugged, "And if not, you can always rant to us. Then we'll get Stanny really drunk and do that thing where we convince him Fatass is hittin' on Wendy and watch 'im make his drunken battle plans."

"Not funny," Stan rolled his eyes.

"I dunno, Bro. That one where you came up with the measuring dicks contest with him until you realized you could lose and started crying was pretty fucking hilarious." Kyle let out a tiny laugh under his sniveling, nodding softly and wiping his eyes, wincing as he slid over a large bruise cresting the right. Kenny rubbed his fingers soothingly over his scalp, "It'll be all right, Ky," he promised. "It can only go up from here."

"Right," Stan echoed.

Kyle nodded again, leaning against Stan's arm propped atop the bed and letting himself simmer down, be surrounded by the comforts he'd prayed for so desperately the night prior. It certainly wasn't a perfect scenario, but it was _something_ for him to hold onto, and he wasn't about to let it go. He creaked his eyes open a bit, seeing Christophe staring at him like trying to peer through a concrete wall. He shook himself a bit as he realized Kyle was looking back, forcing a somewhat comforting smile on his face for him, looking so shaky and unnatural Kyle almost would have preferred a scathing glare. Finally, his hazel eyes flickered away, looking out the crack of the curtains into the daylight, his mind seeming to be racing, his face seeming filled with a brutal knowledge unaware to the remainder of the room. Skepticism and concern etched themselves into a furrowed brow, Kyle having to tear his eyes away from the intensity. The night had been rough for all of them, it wasn't too shocking for any of them to seem off-kilter.

Kyle's eyes slipped shut yet again, consciousness keeping alert for once as he let himself soak into the minute comforts his friends offered. This was fine. He was fine.

Everything was going to be just _fine_.


	5. Chapter 5

If there was one thing that Kyle had despised in his life, it was at any time being dependent on pain medication. Pills just seemed to bring out the worst in him, his chronically weakened immune system always falling prey to the grogginess that they brought about, usually inviting a plethora of any illness to come on in and have themselves a nice visit. So far, he'd been spared what he had considered nearly routine since his first bout of pain relievers when he was twelve and Cartman had broken his nose, but he was just goddamn waiting at this point. He wondered if he'd develop the sickness as a result of his acute selective hypochondria, his worn mind just saying 'fuck it have the worst of it all' and letting him suffer.

With the way his luck was, he couldn't exactly say he'd be shocked.

He sighed, shifting in his propped position curled up on the couch, nestling down into a hoodie he'd stolen from Stan god knew how long ago. It was two sizes too big and had a decade-old beer stain riding the hem, Stan a fan of having the loosest clothing he could procure 'without looking homeless'. Kyle probably _did_ look homeless to the outside observer, practically blanketed in the cornflower sweatshirt, the barely-faded bruises on his face beaming in the flickering light of the television like dirt splotches. Deep, purple bags lingered under his eyes, red lines splashed throughout like rivers. He was so fucking tired, but sleeping _hurt_. Pajama bottom fibers caught on the nylon sutures along his thighs. He'd rolled over onto his broken hand time and again, the plastic casting bending _just_ enough to press against his surgical scars and send him off with a yelp. Anytime he shifted, pain snapped into attention in his hips and he'd wake up with an agonized gasp. His messed-up shoulder didn't like the pressure of his pillows, he couldn't get comfortable on his stitched back, his throat _had_ to be kept propped. He'd learned rather quickly that it wasn't just his hospital bed that was uncomfortable, it was his body that refused to cooperate regardless of position.

And, despite what he assured Stan, Kenny, and Christophe of time and again, paranoia was bearing down on him. It'd turned into a compulsion, having to check his window every twenty minutes to make damn _sure_ it was locked, having to hold his breath in the darkness to see if he could hear the subtle sounds of another person's inhales. He couldn't close his eyes without seeing shadowed, menacing faces. Couldn't move his right wrist without the phantom sensation of metallic cables clutched around it. A reading over his medications had confirmed a possibility of it merely being a side effect, that they would increase his anxiety. It was something to grasp onto, the faint hope that once he was past this rough phase of recovery, he'd be back to his nonchalance in the everyday happenings of life.

Or at least, he hoped so.

And, maybe it wasn't _just_ the pills, it was being metaphorically trapped yet again. On mandatory bedrest for two weeks minimum, possibly longer depending on his fucking throat's healing progression. It definitely wasn't helping him to be laid up on the couch, watching documentaries and stand up specials and trying to pretend that everything was okay. He knew damn well it wasn't. _Everyone fucking knew_.

Christophe had made the decision to forego an assignment he'd been preparing to leave for before Kyle was assaulted. He'd come to the conclusion that making sure his roommate wouldn't fall into a hysteria held more water than whatever was waiting for him god knew where. Kyle had no idea how to react to his offbeat brand of care, his occasional walks out of his room to make sure Kyle had kept up on his fluids, keeping a timer set for his doses of medication and making damn well sure he took them. Kyle had meekly fought him at first, insisting he didn't need _babied_. But a fall onto the floor trying to get himself a cup of coffee had led him to a begrudging agreement that he needed some help. At least for a little while.

A shaking breath racked through him, his eyes flickering up to the whirling ceiling fan lingering above his head. Around and around he watched it spin, dizzying but mesmerizing. The shadows of the blades stretched overhead towards the kitchen, flashing through the cycles like sunlight cutting through a field of windswept reeds. A momentary debate rattled about, wondering if he should just deal with the chills and wait for them to pass like they always did before he was overheating yet again. Or he could make the arduous journey to the switch and back.

No. No he'd deal with the cold.

A buzz rang within Stan's hoodie and he sighed, very genially moving his hand to grasp around his new phone, sliding it open and letting his eyes adjust to the blaring white screen before him. His other was still locked up in police evidence as far as he knew, having to go and order an upgrade, Stan at his side to make damn sure he wasn't ripped off in his half-delusional state.

 **Ike B**  
 _'Hey, bro. Mom said to tell you she'll come over tomorrow to help you clean some stuff up and bring you and what's-his-face some dinners. Feelin' any better?'_

Kyle groaned, leaning his head back just a tad and forcing himself to take a calming breath, knowing that right now getting agitated was the _last_ thing he needed to deal with.

His family was nearly _unbearable_ regarding the situation. He'd had to go to their house straight from the hospital once he was released, having made them promise to stay the fuck away from the facility so they wouldn't see everything and his mother wouldn't walk around shaking down doctors for answers as to what was being done for her son. It'd been awful, sitting in the living room he grew up in, the walls feeling so bizarrely unfamiliar as he was traipsing through his medicated fog. His mother didn't know what'd happened as of then but had burst into tears at seeing his battered face and splinted arm and hand. His father had just stammered, trying to figure out if there was any legal action that they could pursue right off the bat. And Ike, the poor guy back and living at home after being laid off the year before, had been the only one to acknowledge Kyle needed them to be quiet so he could get there himself. He'd had to come pry their mother off of him and lead her to the couch so they could watch him sitting in the chair and fighting for words, his friends standing off to the side and watching the show with heavy expressions.

Kyle hadn't been able to get it all out, only managing to croak out that he was attacked, that they were going to look for the people responsible. Sheila had bombarded him with horrified questions, asking if he'd canceled his bank card. She was informed that nothing was stolen, that his wallet was found with nothing missing. She jumped onto the assumption that it was a hate crime. Kyle assured her that he was positive that wasn't the reason, that he was sure that would've been made clear to him were that the case. Query after query piled on top of him, Kyle losing wind with every response and backed into a verbal corner by his mother's God-given talent of prying. His father had finally interjected once Sheila had to stop for a breath, fingers raking through her hair as Ike forced her to stay in her seat and not go smother his brother yet again. He'd asked a simple, _"So, they just beat you up?"_

Kyle's words had caught, nearly choking on the unspoken syllables trapped in his injured throat. His face had turned hues on a dime, shame clouding his profile and Stan and Kenny rushing up beside him on the chance he'd fall apart again. He couldn't look his family in the face, just hearing the wheels in their head spinning before they reached the same conclusion, Ike the first to break the tension with a breathless _"Holy shit"._

The week since had been nothing but hounding, his mom making damn sure that he was feeling loved and taken care of. Kyle appreciated it to a certain extent, but he didn't want fucking _coddled by his mommy_. He just wanted to _forget_. He wanted Ike to go back to texting him and calling him a stupid fag instead of questioning how he was feeling. He wanted his mother to stop calling him, choking on repressed sobs when she heard how meek and exhausted he sounded over the phone. And he wanted his dad to fucking _talk to him_. Gerald just didn't know what to do, passing on messages of his love and worry through the other two. Kyle wasn't stupid, he knew his dad well enough to know he was planning a legal course of action, all the while trying to pretend that it wasn't _his_ child that he'd be assisting.

He'd always said he never wanted to be involved in a family case, just too many feelings got in the way of better judgment. But Kyle had a feeling being confronted with the issue had turned that philosophy on its head, that he was locked away in his study pouring over law books and putting together what he could with the limited information he had. Kyle wasn't sure whether to be eternally grateful for that or mortified beyond comprehension, knowing that if this went further, _every_ detail would have to be divulged. His family would know every sickening trauma he endured. And close-knit families had a habit of making one member's pain into their collective anguish. Kyle just didn't want them to feel what he was feeling. Not to this extent. Not with the knowledge that only rested with him and four strangers out there somewhere, probably basking in pride over what they had done, far out of the scope of being caught as of now and on the run.

The thought brought a shudder down Kyle's sore spine. They were still out there. Out there free and content with the work they'd done. Out there probably laughing it up and wondering how their victim was doing. Maybe _complimenting_ each other. Maybe regretting not truly leaving him for dead.

Kyle sniffled, looking back down at his phone and reopening the screen, eyes glazed over something fierce as he reread his younger brother's words time and again before forcing himself to finally type back. If he didn't answer in under ten minutes, Ike would be in his car on his way over per his mother's frantic request.

 **Kyle B**  
 _'I'm fine. Tell Ma it's not necessary, we have food and Christophe is cleaning what little needs cleaned. Please.'_

He rolled his eyes a bit at the automatic appearance of the dancing dots, knowing that, despite not being so vocal about it, Ike was just as goddamn worried as Sheila. It was something they had both come to inherit from being raised by a walking bundle of nerves, a never-ending railroad spike pressing against the brain in utter worry for whoever was disadvantaged for the time being, their conscious' unable to rest until their concern had boiled over and smothered the victim with some form of care. The Broflovski burden, they'd lightheartedly dubbed it.

 **Ike B**  
 _'I'll try but no guarantee. Try to get some rest.'_

 **Kyle B** _  
'I will, Ike. Thanks.'_

He tossed his phone onto the couch cushion and sighed, looking back to the visual of taffy candies dancing across the screen along a conveyer belt. Food documentaries, he'd found in his youth, were the best way for him to calm down. Nothing was so satisfying as seeing a dish being completed, nothing that put him more at ease than watching professionals in their environment as they flawlessly spun about in their duties around one another. It was something mindless, something that gave him a degree of comfort and a sense of life that he seemed to be desperately missing in the last few days. It was better than the polarizing numbness, that was for damn sure.

A soft knock broke his attention away from the screen, looking at his door and blinking in confusion. Kenny and Stan were both at work. Christophe was in his room. His family was at home. Who the _fuck_ else would be coming around?

He stayed still for a moment, waiting until a louder round of rapping echoed around him, Kyle gulping just a bit. He looked towards Christophe's closed door, knowing that a mere shout would have him barreling out and ready for whatever was on the other side of their apartment. He bit his lip, slowly swiveling himself upwards and limping towards the door, putting his splinted hand on the barrier a bit in hesitation. Anxiety tried to rush through him, Kyle batting it down with fervor. He couldn't be like this forever, and he _had_ someone with him if things went south.

He took a deep breath, unlocking the deadbolt and the knob, very tediously cracking it open, looking up to see a tall noirette looking at him sympathetically, his heart lurching. "No. No no no no no!" he shook his head a bit at his ex-boyfriend watching him silently. "You're the _last_ person I can deal with right now!" He went to slam the door closed, stopped with a palm in the doorway and a yelp from Craig.

"Kyle, Kyle, please, I just wanted to see if you're okay!" he insisted, hand painfully wedged between the door corner and frame, fingers wrapping around the fiberglass.

"Craig, _leave!_ " he demanded, trying to press against the barrier and get him away. He couldn't deal with an influx of emotions right now, not feeling like _this_. Not _looking like this_.

"Goddammit, Kyle _please_ ," he pleaded. "McCormick texted me and told me you got hurt, I just wanted to check on you!"

Kyle snarled, making a mental note to bitch Kenny out later for even still _talking_ to this fucker. "I'm not yours to check on!"

Craig grunted, shouldering the door enough to push Kyle back a few steps in his shaking state, poking his head through and looking at the damage before him with a falling face. "Holy shit," he said, blinking as Kyle's jaw trembled.

"I _know_ ; I look like _shit_. And I _feel_ like shit, too! You won't goddamn help that!"

"Kyle, come on," he tried again, wincing as Kyle went back to pressing his weight on the door to try to crush him out. "God, I _just_ want to make sure you're all right!" he persisted.

"I'm fine, leave! I kicked you out once and I'll do it again!" he snapped.

Craig hissed, looking at him with sympathy lining those grey eyes, a look that halted Kyle in his pushing, completely thrown aback by such an unusual expression for him. He'd never seen it before. A year and a half of Kyle coming to him with problems galore had resulted in him getting nothing but stone-faced apologies for his troubles and reassuring, half-assed back rubs. Not this look. Not a look of _pity_ and _sorrow_. It seemed unnatural on his face, wrenching Kyle's stomach something awful. "You're not fine," Craig finally said in his pause. "McCormick… told me that you were having a really hard time. I promise, I'm not here to start a damn thing. I just needed to see that you're doing okay."

Kyle bit his lip softly, looking at him with apprehension. "How… how much did Kenny tell you?"

"He said someone attacked and mugged you," he shrugged with some effort from his confined position. Kyle took a shaking breath, looking around the room a bit before landing back on Craig. Well. At least Kenny had spared him _some_ of his dignity. "Kyle. Please," he breathed. "Just… just let me talk to you a little. I've been worried out of my fucking mind."

Kyle glanced between him and Christophe's door, knowing that his roommate could throw Craig's lanky ass out into the street in a second flat if he asked him to. "How long have you known?"

He shrugged again, "About three days? He told me not to come over but… but I don't know, I felt fucking obligated."

He narrowed his eyes, "You're not obligated to see me. Ever. This isn't your concern."

"Yes, it is, I still fucking don't want you beaten to shit, Kyle, Jesus fucking Christ," he frowned.

"Funny _you_ would say that," he sneered.

Craig sighed, putting his head against the door's corner. "I know. Look, I know. But I'm not here to talk about that, I'm here to see you. That's all I want."

Kyle's shoulders dropped a bit, once again looking at Christophe's door and groaning under his breath. "Fine. You pull any shit and I'll sic my roommate on your skinny ass."

"That's fair," he agreed, letting out a long breath of relief as Kyle finally stepped back away from the door and let him pass through, rubbing his injured hand a bit as he closed the door behind him. Kyle watched him warily, those grey eyes slowly creeping up his body, taking in every injury he came across and shaking his head slowly. "What did they do to you?"

"More than I'm happy with," he muttered, stumbling a bit where he stood, dizzy from the sudden excitement. He backed away, keeping his eyes locked on Craig as he sat back onto the couch, automatically going back to his curled position while Craig remained staring at him in slight shock.

"Jesus, they fucked you up," he said blankly.

Kyle huffed, looking away from him at last down to his legs. "Yeah. Well… Guess you're not the only one who can land a punch on me," he muttered bitterly.

Craig sunk a bit with a sigh, slowly moving over and plopping down in the chair adjacent to the couch, hands folding between his knees and slightly leaning forward. "I don't think that needs brought up, you look like an argument would make you keel over."

Kyle hesitated before slumping, giving a half-hearted raise of his left shoulder. "Couldn't make me much worse, honestly," he murmured.

"Are you doing all right?" he asked, a certain softness to his tone that Kyle couldn't naturally place with his voice.

"As well as can be expected," he said. "Not great. Not dead. Just… here."

He nodded slowly, taking in his words with care. "Well… I'm glad you're not dead."

"How sweet. Thanks," he rolled his eyes.

They both turned at the sound of a door opening, seeing Christophe stepping through looking at his phone and scowling. "Kyle, I was on ze phone, I could not get out and 'eard you soundeeng upset. Are you all-" he finally looked up, landing in Craig's stare and narrowing his eyes in the slightest. "'ello. And you are?"

"Craig," he responded, face flickering with annoyance at the intrusion.

Christophe looked at Kyle, "Craig? _Zat_ Craig? Ze puncheeng ass'ole?"

"Yes," Kyle muttered, feeling Craig looking at him and shifting uncomfortably. "I'm fine," he assured him.

Christophe watched him for a moment longer, nodding slowly and looking at Craig in slight suspicion. "Well zen. Eef you need me, just 'oller. I weell take care of eet," he said, eyes locked in Craig's in warning before he turned and headed back into his room, leaving the door cracked open.

Craig cleared his throat, "He seems… nice," he murmured.

"He is," Kyle said firmly. "Hasn't hit me once."

He sighed, putting his face into his palm and stretching out his thumb and fingers, rubbing his temples. "Kyle, you _really_ don't look like you're in the condition for this."

"I'm not in the condition for _anything_ ," he said, shoulders slinking and head gently falling to the side to rest on the back of the sofa, green looking up at Craig's own tired slump and sighing. "Craig, why are you here?"

"I was worried, so sue me."

"Don't tempt me. My hospital bills are going to be enormous," he muttered.

Craig looked back up, twisting his lips in the slightest as they locked in one another's stare. "Anything I can do?"

"No. I told you, this isn't your concern. I'll… get over it or whatever just fine on my own."

He rolled his eyes, "Maybe you being your usual stubborn ass self isn't the best course of action in this situation."

Kyle narrowed his gaze at him, teeth clicking against one another for a moment. "Oh okay. I guess I should just hide and cry with pints of ice cream, right?"

"That's not what I meant-"

"Or maybe," he cut him off, " _maybe_ I should just go live with my mother again so she can bring me soup and nibbles and smother me like I'm a goddamn toddler!"

Craig paused before clearing his throat, tapping his thumbs against one another. "She wants you to move back in, huh?"

Kyle paused, sighing to himself and shrugging. "She doesn't like seeing me hurt."

"No one likes seeing you hurt."

He rolled his eyes, "I think the guys that attacked me would say otherwise."

"Guy _s_?" he echoed. "I figured from McCormick's text it was only one."

Kyle scoffed, "What? Think I can't defend myself against _one_ person?"

"I didn't say you couldn't. I just assumed that's what he meant. And… you're… small," he shrugged, Kyle's bruised eyes narrowing in warning. He held up his hands, patting them against the air in short beats. "Kyle, I'm sorry. But if a 300-pound guy goes after you, it wouldn't go well."

He cocked his brow, "Are you just _choosing_ to forget me kicking the shit out of Cartman time and again?"

He paused, tilting his head a bit and letting it bounce up as he considered his words. "Okay. Yeah. Fair point. Sorry."

Kyle stared at him for a bit, letting out a quiet sigh. "Why are you here?" he repeated, holding up his splinted hand for him to not reiterate his previous claim. "You didn't try to get in contact with me _once_ since you left and now you just show up out of nowhere all concerned and shit. Why?"

Craig leaned back in the chair with a groan, raking his fingers up through his hair and scratching at his scalp. "Look, I don't really know. I was planning on leaving you alone, but I drove by going to the store, and I just kind of… acted on impulse."

"You _never_ act on impulse," he countered, raising his brow again.

"Well I guess you just bring that out in me sometimes," he rolled his eyes. "And I didn't try to contact you because Marsh and McCormick fucking threatened my balls if I so much as looked at you again."

Kyle blinked, face heating up and shifting awkwardly. "They uh… t-they did that?"

"Yes," he frowned. "They came to Clyde's place the day after and Marsh almost punched me."

"To be fair, you would've deserved it," he drawled.

He shook his head a bit. "You remember that you hit me back. Right?"

"Not hard enough," he retorted haughtily before sinking back down and sighing. "I didn't tell them to do that," he mumbled, face burning. It was a massive clash of appreciation and humiliation. He didn't particularly _like_ when Stan and Kenny fought his battles for him, he just needed them there for the aftermath of waging his own wars.

He nodded, "I know. You're not enough of a pussy to send someone else after me. You'd rather skin me yourself."

A small smile quirked on his lips, a nearly silent huff of a laugh breeching his nose as he curled up tighter into his ball. "True…" he sighed, shifting to get his aching shoulder out of the cushion to take off the weight. "Look. It's… cool I guess that you wanted to check or whatever but honestly I just can't deal with visitors right now. I'm dealing with the cops tomorrow and worrying over that, so I'm tired and sore and not in a great place."

Craig nodded, getting to his feet. "Yeah, no. I get that. I'll leave. Like I said, I just wanted to make sure you're all right."

Kyle shrugged half-heartedly. "Probably about as well as anyone expects."

He nodded again, slamming his hands down into his pockets, rocking his weight from his heels to the balls of his feet. "Can I at least like… text you now and then? Just to check up? I know 'I don't have to' or whatever, but it'd be nice to know you aren't dead."

He gulped again, giving him another subtle shrug. "I guess I can't really stop you. Just know I'm not exactly in the mood for conversation right now, so don't get all pissy if I don't answer you or whatever."

"I'm not one for long talks anyway," he reminded him with a return shrug. "Feel better." Kyle nodded, staring at that sympathetic stare taking over his ex's face. It had him caught, lost through the abnormality. Craig turned on his heel and walk out the door without another word, Kyle blinking after him and shifting back on the couch again. He leaned his head back, closing his eyes with a long sigh. That was literally the last thing he needed. Kyle considered calling and yelling at Kenny for a moment before just opting to let it go. He had enough stress, he didn't need to add a potential fight with one of his best friends into the goddamn mix.

"Are you all right?" a quiet, husked voice ventured. He opened his eyes to see Christophe hovering over him before moving to sit on the other end of the couch, his gaze never leaving his battered roommate.

He shrugged, "I guess. He just wanted to check on me. Last fucking person I expected, I'll say that," he muttered. Christophe nodded, lips pressing together. Kyle watched him curiously, seeing suspicion lingering in those sharp eyes. "What?"

"I zink you should stay away from 'eem," he said bluntly. "'e 'as brought you no'zeeng but trouble."

Kyle gave a sad, small huff of a laugh. "Tophe, with the shit I'm dealing with, the bull he pulled is the _least_ of my life's troubles."

He seemed to consider this, giving him a slow nod and sitting back against the couch, propping his head up with his cheek in his palm. "You are goeeng to ze poleece tomorrow, oui?"

"Yeah?"

"Would you like me to go wiz you?" he asked, watching Kyle's bruised face twisting a tad at the notion. "Kyle," he said firmly, getting his focus locked back on himself, "you know zat any'zeeng said weell never leave zat room eef eet ees me zere."

He nodded, "I know that. I just don't know how much I want you to know."

"Eet ees up to you," he emphasized. "But… you are 'aveeng troubles weez strangers, no?"

"I don't think I have too much to worry about with cops in a filmed room," he raised his brow before pausing. But then again… he couldn't even look at his _family_ without having a support system of some kind. And his medications were throwing him so far off track he needed _some_ kind of familiar buoy to help guide him back on track. He leaned his head further into the couch, looking at Christophe's stone-set expression and nodding softly. "If I say yes to this… you keep everything to yourself," he said firmly. "And you don't bring it up around me. _Ever_."

He held up his hand, "I swear eet. I weell only be zere for your peace of mind. Ze poleece can… not 'andle zis seetuation weeth care at times."

Kyle narrowed his eyes, "How would you know?"

"I 'ave 'eard zem weeth ozers who 'ave been attacked before," he frowned. "Zey are not practeeced een 'andleeng trauma well."

Kyle rolled his eyes, curling further into his ball and wincing at the stretch of his back stitches. "Don't call it trauma," he muttered, looking back towards the television and watching smooth ribbons of caramel pouring over long melted strips of sugar. "It's just a shit situation. Nothing more." He could feel hazel eyes bearing down on him, keeping his focus locked on the flickering box across from him. Calling it trauma gave it power, made it _real_ and _permanent._ It was a word applied to those who let what happened to them linger, let it eat away at them. It only came to those who wouldn't let their pasts be shed, refused to step out into new skin and realize that with each passing moment, they got further from what had brought them down in the first place.

Kyle refused to let himself be settled into that category, not yet. Too little time had passed to declare himself changed by the experience. Too many drugs were in his system, too many stitches still pulled tautly at his skin. He was _surrounded_ by the memory still, it was no wonder he was beyond paranoid, could hardly go five minutes without flinching. His gaze flickered to his medication bottles beside him on the end table, shifting uncomfortably. He just needed to wade his way through this, needed to slowly work his way through the drugs and the pain. Soon he would be able to sleep again, soon he would be able to go back to work and lose himself in his projects. He closed his eyes, curling up a little tighter and ignoring the pondering, sympathetic stare he could feel from both Christophe and what Craig had left with.

Soon everything would go back to how it used to be.


	6. Chapter 6

Kyle couldn't help but find the truth in Christophe's warning: The cops didn't seem to have a decent procedure for handling someone in his circumstance. He thought maybe he'd be talked to in an office, or somewhere where the lighting was a little softer, the atmosphere _safer_. Somewhere that told him 'it's okay to share what happened, there's no judgement here'. Not the interrogation room. Not in a foldout chair under blaring fluorescents, as though _he_ were the one who did wrong. As though he wasn't sitting waiting for them in visible pain having to adjust his aching body to the rigidity of his seat.

Christophe sat beside him, arms crossed and nearly as solid as the room itself. He watched Kyle working himself through the motions, only moving when Kyle tried too hard to shift and nearly tumbled from his place. A part of Kyle hated him being there, not really willing to divulge so much of this to someone he was in such close proximity to. But, he reminded himself, it was better than Stan or Kenny being with him. He and Christophe didn't have a lifetime of history together that would be rewritten with what he shared today. He wouldn't cry like Stan or get twitchy and snap like Kenny. He'd just be there, being a stable form for Kyle to find some form of solace within.

He gripped the Styrofoam cup of coffee one of the officers had given him, clutching it in his right hand and pulling it against his chest, unwilling to let his shoulder stretch out for longer than it had to. He groaned under his breath, the arduous task of taking a sip made more intense under Christophe's eagle-sharp gaze. He stole a look at him and gulped down the now-tepid substance. Truth be told it wasn't much more than toasty when he'd been handed it to begin with. "Are you mad or something?" he asked, keeping his voice low and calm. He knew he was a loose cannon at this point, he could easily lose himself in a fit of emotion and stress out his fucked up vocal cords. He didn't need to get a head start on it.

Christophe blinked once. Twice. Taking in his words with care, letting himself read through what Kyle needed to hear. "Non," he finally replied. "I am worried. You look like sheet."

"Thanks," he rolled his eyes. "Really a boost to my ego there, Tophe."

He gave him a light smirk and a half-roll of his shoulder. "I do not zeenk anyzeeng I tell you weell do zat." His expression fell in the slightest, "Why do you zeenk I am angry?"

Kyle looked down at his cup and shrugged back. "I don't know. I kind of fucked up your work trip and shit."

"Eet ees not as zough you planned zis, Kyle," he reminded him, a slight bite to his tone. "Ze treep was nozeeng special anyway. I 'ave ozers I can take. Eet was not an opportunity meessed."

Kyle sighed with a tiny nod, tapping his finger against his cup and staring down at the table in front of them. He just wanted this part over with. Just wanted to do this so Christophe could drive them home and he could try to catch a half hour of sleep before waking up and fighting to get back to it for a few hours.

Christophe couldn't help but keep staring, eying the blatant fingermarks still spread around Kyle's neck, the blossomed shades of purples and blues painting his profile under and around the gauze taped to his cheek. It sickened him, a part of him _more_ than suspicious about what had occurred when Kyle left the bar. Happenstance seemed too _easy_ an excuse. This level of brutality, the _proficiency_ of what had happened to him seemed to speak to a different story than just 'wrong place, wrong time'.

But, that's why he was here. The only one who could tell him the odds was, as far as Christophe could tell, blissfully ignorant of the multitude of possibilities that were laying under his feet.

They both glanced up as the door opened, watching Sergeant Yates and Detective Murphy stepping in through the frame. Kyle's eye hit Murphy's badge as they sat across from them and he gulped, feeling the chill of ice spreading over his clothed body, hearing the mumbled, incoherent voices of eternity. "How are you feeling, Mr. Broflovski?" the man questioned, a level of geniality to his tone.

"Not great," he shrugged.

"Understandable," he nodded, looking at Yates shuffling through folders before shoving one towards him. Murphy took it and a pen from his pocket, both staring at the disheveled man before them.

Yates took a long breath, "All right, let's just jump into it," he said, hitting an array of buttons on a tape recorder beside of them and looking back at Kyle's weary face. "Tell us what happened, Mr. Broflovski."

Kyle shuddered, wishing there'd been a bit more lead up before being forced straight into it. "We were at Skeeter's Bar last Friday," he murmured. "We were there about three and a half hours before one of them came up to talk to me."

"One of who? Describe them," he nodded to Murphy to jot down notes along with Kyle's descriptions.

"One of the ones that attacked me," he elaborated. "He uh had super dark brown hair… hazel or green eyes. I'm not sure which it was kind of low lighting but I'm pretty sure they were hazel. He told me his name was Neil and he was a pediatrician… More than positive now that those were lies, though," he muttered.

Yates nodded, "Had you been drinking?"

"Yeah. I had five or so beers over the time we were there," he shrugged.

"What did he say to you?" Murphy asked.

He paused, licking over his lips in thought. "I… I-I can't remember exactly what was said. Basically, he just came over and hit on me and asked if I wanted to leave."

Yates' finger tapped slowly on the wooden surface between them. "So you willingly left with him."

"Yes," he said bitterly. "He said he was calling a cab for us to go to a motel. Instead his fucking friend pulled up and they drove me into the woods."

"Were you restrained in the car?"

"No."

"Then why didn't you call for help?" he cocked his brow.

Kyle sighed, face turning hues. "I wasn't paying attention to the car or the road or anything but him. I didn't think anything was wrong until we were parked and it was too late for me to do anything."

"You'd been drinking," Yates reminded him. "Is it possible he and who he was with invited you to be with all of them and you accepted?"

Kyle blinked, sitting up a little straighter and holding up his splinted hand. "Do you not _see me_?" he whispered. "Who the _fuck_ consents to something like _this_? They fucking grabbed me out of the car, a-and... dragged me into the woods so no one would hear me. You think I _asked_ for this?!" he demanded, voice jumping up a couple octaves.

Yates leaned back, eyes scanning over the visible wounds and reparations. He'd been advised to give him a week or so for his tongue to heal and make the process easier all around. He didn't doubt Kyle's claims, not in the least. Not with the condition he was found in, not after interviewing his friends and learning bits and pieces of the man across from him. But this was a matter of crossing out every possibility until one remained, he was just going to have to deal with the infuriating queries if he wanted answers at the end of it all. "Just covering our bases, Mr. Broflovski," he finally answered. "How many were there? Did they carry you into the woods?"

Kyle's angered shaking came to a halt, his shoulders dropping. "Um, four. There was the guy I was with, the driver, and two of their friends. All I fuckin' know is one of them is Russian or Ukrainian or something, his accent was ridiculously thick. But no, they didn't carry me; they had this… wire?" he squinted in thought, looking at them as though they could fill in the blanks he was giving them. "Some kind of metal cable kind of thing, I'm not sure," he shrugged, holding up his arms. "They tied my wrists and dragged me there."

"Together or…?" Murphy pointed between his hands.

He shook his head, "No, apart," he held his arms out a bit in demonstration. "They tried making me walk, but I wouldn't so they just kicked me down and dragged me."

"Did they seem to know where they were going?" Yates questioned, Kyle not catching Christophe sitting up straighter at the inquiry.

"Um… yeah, actually," he murmured, putting his hands on the table and staring at his splint. "One of 'em said 'get him _there_ '… And they walked right to it." He was expecting questions like that, he just didn't know why he felt so nauseated revisiting that detail in particular. Was it just the notion that he knew what he was leading up towards? He narrowed his eyes. No. No, it wasn't that. Something just felt _off_. "There was a tree that was fallen and they just… threw me on it," he said, head ducking down in embarrassment.

Yates nodded, stealing a glance at Murphy's notes. "Did they say anything else on the way there? Or when you got there?"

"T-the guy I left with, when they were trying to make me walk and I wouldn't move, he had a fuckin' knife a-and… and he told me if I kept moving, they wouldn't kill me…" he looked up at them and gulped. "I'd already told them to take my wallet… I-I didn't know what they were doing."

"So… you think it's all pre-meditated?" Murphy winced.

Kyle shuddered, but nodded. "I can't think of what else it could possibly be. They had a fucking _bag_."

"What was in the bag?" Yates squinted.

He blushed, hiding his face in his right hand. "Um, the cables. The fuckin' razorblade I think… a-and… fuckin' lube. Maybe more, I don't know."

The officers stopped and looked at one another before back at the hiding man, suspicion worming its way headily between the three observing. "Mr. Broflovski, do you have any idea of why they would have targeted you?"

"No," he croaked, a subtle flinch radiating down his spine as that voice growled in his ear again. "My friend said Neil or whoever was staring at me since I got to the bar… he just didn't move for almost four hours before coming after me. And… and when he told me that I _thought_ it was weird, he just didn't seem like he was fucking shy?" he winced, looking at them again, met with pitiable expressions that made his stomach lurch. "I thought maybe it was just because Christophe and Stan were beside me," he gestured to his roommate watching him with that same concern. "But there were times other than that I was by myself like getting drinks and… and going to the bathroom. I… I think he was waiting."

"Waiting for what?" Murphy asked, voice gentle as Kyle's quaking began.

He sniffled, 'I-I don't know. His friends to be ready? Me to have enough alcohol in me so maybe he thought I was loaded or at least slower? He sent some girl to me first, apparently she was checking me out or something I don't know. But she told me they had some fucking thing where if I wasn't into girls, then _he_ got to take me home…" he trailed off, shoulders dropping further. "But Kenny literally spent all night telling girls that I don't fucking swing that way… If he was watching, he _had_ to have heard that at least once."

"'e was lowereeng your defenses," Christophe murmured, Kyle looking back at him and blinking, the man shrugging apologetically. "Ze girl… she was zere to paint 'eem as… nervous," he frowned.

"Then he fucked it up by not being shy with you," Yates agreed with a nod.

Kyle leaned back in his chair, staring at the table and biting his lip. "This is skipping way ahead but… there was something else he told me that just… sounded off." He paused and forced a shaking breath to rack through his aching throat, the vibrations putting his injured larynx through a new hell all its own. "They… finished," he cringed, "A-and dragged me somewhere else. And I don't remember what they said when they were dragging me; I was way out of it and thinking they were gonna kill me at that point," he emphasized. "But h-he made me call the guys, and tell them where I was. But before he did, he told me that I wasn't allowed to die… because they'd be in trouble if I did. And I just… I don't know if he meant if they murdered me the search would be higher priority or what but it didn't… _sound_ like that's what he meant."

Christophe stared at him before dropping his face into his hand, rubbing his temples and taking a deep breath. That told him all he needed to know. He knew exactly what they were dealing with now, and a glance towards the cops across from them confirmed his theory, seeing their faces just as wrought with the notion. Kyle looked between the three of them, catching the deafening shift in demeanor and his heart began to pound.

"I… w-what do you think that meant?" he asked, voice cracking with nerves.

Yates looked at his partner, Murphy nodding and slowly putting his file onto the table. He was better at this kind of talking, always had been, his superior always looking to him to fill in the blanks for their interviewees. He folded his hands in front of him, looking at Kyle's lost, bruised face and gulping. "Few options," he started softly. "First one is that what you aren't sure of is true. That they just didn't want more cops on their tails. But, just out of pure speculation from what you've told us… I'm not so sure that's the case," he winced.

Kyle bit his lip, "You think they just… did it just because they could?"

"Also a possibility. But, again, we're not sure. But it sounds like they've done this kind of thing before. At the _very_ least the one who got you out of the bar. They left you exactly a mile due east of Starks. Just like they had you tell your friends. And I mean _exactly_. This was _very_ premeditated, otherwise they're the masters of coincidence."

He frowned, "Like coincidentally finding me?"

"Now, that could very well have just been severely awful circumstance," he assured him. "Wrong place, wrong time. That kind of thing. You may meet the stature of the kind of person they've possibly harmed before. Let's say that they do do this when they can… maybe they look for someone your size, since you're a bit smaller than average," he gestured to his lithe form. "Maybe they look for redheads. Who knows?" He paused, leaning back and tapping his pen on the table, glancing at Yates for him to press on with the blunter questioning, subtly pointing to one of their notes.

The sergeant cleared his throat, looking up at Kyle as he wrestled with the possibilities being thrown on top of him. "Mr. Broflovski, how were your clothes removed?"

Kyle flinched, Christophe gently catching his arm to keep him from wobbling off his chair and he blushed. "Um… t-they cut them. All but my jeans and socks. Actually that was something else… weird," he said carefully. "They left my shirt around my throat with… with um…" he trailed off, eyes flittering around and right hand rapidly beginning to tremor anxiously. "W-with the first two… bu… but…" he grit his teeth, getting _beyond_ angry with himself. His pride was being ground into the dust, every ounce of him _resisting_ sharing such pertinent information.

All at once, he saw himself, Stan, Kenny, and Cartman when they were thirteen, when Stan had broken his arm trying to climb a tree to save a bird he believed to be wounded before it pecked him in the face and sent him spiraling down to the ground as it flew off, healthy as could be. The other three were sent home to wait until he got back from the hospital, passing the time at Cartman's house until he came slinking back in in embarrassment. _"I told everyone I saved the stupid bird,"_ he'd muttered. _"But I hope it rots in Bird Hell."_

Kenny had snorted, _"Dude, why the fuck did you lie?"_

" _You never tell people why you really got hurt if it's embarrassing,"_ he'd scoffed, plopping down between Kyle and Cartman, patting his cast with a prim expression. _"This way, what I did was_ _ **noble**_ _. No one can make fun of you for getting hurt if you were a hero."_

Kyle wondered if there was any possible way for him to turn this tale of horrors around and make himself into the victor. But he was no fool, he knew his only triumph within the mess was merely his _survival_. That was no hero's feat, not to him. No, that was the call of the _victim_ , the one thing Kyle _never_ allowed himself to admit to being in all his years growing up. It'd happened more than once, bouts of horrid illnesses, getting himself into dangerous situations that he always crafted his way out of on wit alone. No one could call him the victim then, he always came out with a strong glow and another lesson learned to plant into his lifestyle.

But here? Here, he could find no lessons.

He could find nothing but a bitter, cold wasteland of apathy bearing down on him. The ice wanted him to turn brittle and break. The rock-solid ground wanted to be there when he fell to make the tumble all the more painful. There was nothingness, his survival was nothing more than the muted sunlight barely cresting through layers of opaque, grey clouds. It added nothing, shadows nonexistent under his footing. But it also took away nothing. His life was at a standstill. He had fallen from the tree when there was never even a bird at all for him to point towards as a reasoning.

He was just here. Alone. And he couldn't understand _why_.

" _Kyle?"_ a voice prodded through his acrid lands, bobbing a bit with a cautious, calloused hand gripping his arm and shaking him. He turned to his side, back in the room with the too-bright lights and staring at Christophe. A stern face fell into marred worry. "We lost you for a meenute, do you need to go 'ome?"

Kyle mindlessly tongued over his lips, turning back to the officers watching him, both blinking slowly at how he had begun to maneuver himself. Every move seemed robotic, calculated with precision. He was ready to run away, ready to flee from dangers unseen.

"Um…" Kyle cleared his throat, eyes falling to his lap and a sigh leaking out of him. "Sorry. I… My meds are just…"

"They can mess you up pretty good," Murphy reassured him, more than used to this kind of zoning out on behalf of troubled interviewees. "Unless you have physical descriptions, we can work off of what you gave us already if you need to get out of here."

"Only the first guy," he murmured. "It was so dark… I-I just know they were all… _so much_ bigger than me. Which isn't… _unusual_ I guess but… maybe they just _seemed_ giant I don't know. I'm just not…" he trailed off and leaned his head back a tad, face changing hues under the fading bruises.

Yates tapped his finger against the table, clacking his teeth. "How about a written detailing?" he asked, getting Kyle's attention back on him. "Write out what you remember, come give it to us within the next month or whenever the meds kind of fade," he waved towards him. "Just come in with it so we can verify and get a signature that it's _you_ who wrote it. Then you don't have to deal with all this," he gestured around aimlessly.

Kyle blinked, looking over at Christophe who gave him a small shrug. "Zat would probably be for ze best for you," he encouraged.

Kyle sniffed, nodding a bit. "Yeah… yeah that'd uh… that'd be easier."

Yates gave him a sharp nod back. "That's no problem, Mr. Broflovski. It'll take a little while for the samples to be tested anyway. Just go home, get some rest, and try not to dwell on it."

"I'll try to remember that tomorrow when my stitches are being ripped out," he muttered before just sighing and looking back at them pathetically. "Thanks."

"Anything you think of that you want said right away, give the station a call," Murphy added.

Kyle nodded, rubbing over an eye as it bleared from exhaustion. "Okay," he whispered, feeling Christophe getting to his feet and standing behind him. The cops nodded in permission, Christophe moving to help Kyle onto his wobbling legs. Kyle pulled out of his grasp as soon as he was fully upright, not wanting to lean on him to make his way out of the building. His head ducked in the slightest as he could feel Yates and Murphy watching him in sympathy as he forced himself forward and opened the door to step into the less-claustrophobic area of the department. The deep bruises still lingering about on his hips ached with each step, his face falling into a slight scowl knowing that they hadn't faded in color in the slightest, they still painted a gruesome picture of greedy hands and warning punches.

And his doctor would get to see them _all_ tomorrow, would make special note of them and try to reassure him that they'd be gone within the next week or two. But for now, they stayed. They stayed under the stitches, under the loose layers of clothing that still couldn't manage to cover everything. Some marks were finally fading away, his coloring now an array of purples and blues and beiges and browns sporadically dappled over pale skin.

Christophe stepped in front of him to open the heavy door leading outside, Kyle sighing to himself and nodding in embarrassed thanks before passing the threshold into the chilled air. He glanced up at a monotonous, grey sky, feeling a shudder running down his back as his breath appeared in short bursts of steam before him. The world just felt empty, only the briefest sounds of birds or a car passing by to fill the void.

"Kyle," Christophe stood beside him and squeezed his shoulder softly. "Are you all right?"

He crossed his arms, rubbing over them a bit in the chill and giving him a simple shrug. "I guess. I fucking hate this… fading in and out thing, though," he muttered.

Christophe nodded in understanding, walking beside him as they made way towards his car. "I am sure zat weell go away soon enough. You deed just fine," he promised. "You gave zem good eenformation."

"I barely said _anything_ ," he protested, coming up to the passenger-side door and placing his right hand under the handle, waiting for Christophe to get to his side and unlock the doors. He smirked in the slightest, watching Christophe fumbling with his keys, cursing the lack of a button-operated system as he always did. Finally, the key made it past the scratches in the paint as it slid into the lock, both of them listening to the mechanisms jerking upright and climbing inside. Christophe watched as Kyle oh-so-precisely lowered his way into the vehicle, the way that he had to twist his lower body to put the weight where it hurt the least. Kyle hissed in the slightest as he settled into the seat, cutting himself off right away, trying to convince himself that no one else had heard the noise as he finally shut the door behind him.

Christophe turned on the car, both jerking back with an influx of heat blasting through the vents. Kyle hated riding in his car for that reason alone if nothing else. He _hated_ hot air smothering him, could barely even stand someone's breath momentarily on his face, let alone a nonstop supply of stifling wind beating into him. Christophe cleared his throat as they both worked on their seatbelts, looking at him curiously. "Are you 'ungry?"

"Why are you so chilled out?" Kyle snapped suddenly, both shocked by the volume that spilled from him without prompt.

"I beg your pardon?" he blinked.

Kyle's face shifted color, eyes locking down on the dashboard and teeth chewing down on his lip. "Sorry," he muttered. "You're just… so fucking _calm_. Why can't _I_ be that fucking calm?!"

Christophe took his hands off the wheel, sitting back in his seat and watching Kyle scratching irritably at his knee. A long, somber sigh left him as he watched his nails raking back and forth along his pantleg. He'd had to change that ridiculously common nervous habit of his, he used to scrape at his thigh. But feeling the sensation of stitches gliding under his fingertips had proven to be too much for him to handle the first time he'd tried doing so. Christophe wondered if Kyle was going to be nothing but scars by the time this was over, physically and otherwise. "Kyle," he finally spoke. "I was not ze one attacked."

Kyle sank, "Well I _know that_ , but… but I don't know. Stan and Ken have been so fucking…"

"Much like your mozer?" he shrugged. "Do you _want_ me to act like zat?"

He shook his head. "No, I don't want or expect you to do anything. You've went way further than a lot of other people would have already to help me out…" he sighed, considering that analytical stare and biting his cheek. "Were the other people you knew that were… _in this situation_ so fucked up?" he asked, voice hardly breeching a whisper.

Christophe let out a long breath, a lone finger tapping on the console between them as he weighed his words with care. "Ze people I knew zat were 'urt… _expected_ to be 'urt. Or at least, knew eet could 'appen. You deed not. And… none 'ave been 'urt like zis. No one zat I actually know at least." He paused as Kyle seemed to sink even lower, head bowing and eyes riddled with hollow humiliation. "Zere ees nozeeng wrong weez 'ow you are 'andleeng eet," he spoke steadily, knowing that _someone_ had to be the rock in this car, and Kyle was _far_ from being able to take that role himself. Not for a while, anyway.

"I feel like something's wrong with me," he admitted, eyes drifting back to the searing heat of the vents. "I… I thought I'd feel _better_ trying to tell them what happened but… I just feel even worse. Because I realized trying to tell them what happened and who these people were that I don't know _anything_ ," he stressed. "And… and I dunno, something about the way they looked at each other just… freaked me out."

Christophe nodded, "'ow so?"

"There's something they aren't telling me," he said, almost to himself as a tired gaze flickered around the engraved logo of the plastic before him. "That detective was really close to saying something but he kept backing off from it. I'm being treated like a fucking _child_."

He clicked his teeth quietly, glancing down at the dented cigarette pack resting in his cup holder. His fingers twitched, itching to grab one but wondering if that would just agitate Kyle further.

Kyle glanced over, seeing his inner quandary and finally giving a ghost of a smile. "Dude. Light up, it's your goddamn car."

"Ze last zeeng you need ees to cough and break a reeb or somezeeng," he said dryly.

Kyle rolled his eyes, snatching his cigarettes and pulling out one for himself, handing them to a very baffled Christophe. "So, I've kind of been swiping these from you the past few months," he admitted with a sheepish shrug. "There's a reason I'd buy you a pack on the way home, Dude."

He snorted, shaking his head and passing him his Zippo. "Guilty conscious, Broflovski?"

"More I just don't want my own pack. Makes me feel like if they're not _mine_ , I have some form of control over it…" he trailed off, shoulders sinking as he lit the end and cracked down the window. "Guess that was just wishful thinking."

Christophe sighed, igniting his own and taking a long drag before turning and looking back at him. "Just because you lost control over one zeeng does not mean you 'ave lost eet all."

Kyle refused to look at him, turning towards the window as he blew smoke through the crack, watching it rise out freely towards the clouds. "Not when it's this," he said. "If I just smoked a carton a day, then I only lost control over that. This changes things, I think. Everything."

"'ow so?"

"I'm not even sure," he confessed. "But, I… I can't sleep. I can barely eat. I'm not allowed to work for another week or longer. I can't fucking _shower_ without it being a two-hour ordeal, ya know? It's like everything just _stopped_ because of this one thing, and I can't wrangle them back."

He frowned, "Kyle. Eet 'as only been over a week. Zis weell not go away so quickly."

"I know that, I know," he waved him off. "I'd just… feel better if I knew what was gonna happen in the future," he winced. "If I knew they at least had a clue of who they're looking for, or if I knew that I'm gonna come out of this without any fucking scars always staring at me, ya know? Or… if everyone is gonna stop looking at me like I'm fucking glass."

His shoulders sank, ashing out of the window and taking a long, steadying breath. "We know you are not glass," he said. "But even Marsh and McCormick do not know 'ow to approach zis. Zey 'ave never seen you like zis. Zey do not want to reesk you falleeng because of zem."

Kyle sighed, eyes lingering on the smoldering end of his cigarette. He looked down at his hip with a short buzz, carefully maneuvering himself to snatch his phone from its confines.

 **Craig T**  
 _'Doing all right?'_

Kyle shook his head, clearing the notification and shoving the device back into place. "This is just making things too complicated," he muttered. "Why can't this be like… like fucking TV and everything gets solved in like, two days?"

"Because God ees a cunt," he said simply with a shrug and another puff.

Kyle took another drag and leaned his head back, closing his eyes to the heater still blasting over his face, trying to drown him in warmth that he couldn't seem to find anywhere else. Any other time of his life, he would have reprimanded Christophe for the statement, or at least looked at him with a hint of derision for insulting something that he lived his life by. After all, he was raised with weekly trips to temple, taught that everything that happened held some sort of meaning, and that God wouldn't give him anything more than he could handle. But in the echo of his statement, as he sat pained and with more confusion than he'd had that morning, as he couldn't seem to wipe the pathetic, pitying expressions he'd been shown from the forefront of his mind… He couldn't find any justification to argue.


End file.
